Red vs Blue: Season 11
by BentleyGirl
Summary: My thirteenth novelization of the current season on air. Please read my other stories to find out more. Please read and review. Rated T for language and some slight sexual innuendo
1. The Story So Far

**Before I get started on Season 11 for real, I'm fully aware that the ending of my last story has no context for the start of the season. So I'm putting in this little recap, the ending of which will hopefully get me out of this little hole I'm in.**

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_Prologue: The Story So Far_

_In the mid-26__th__ century, two of the greatest wars in humanity's existence were taking place. One was of course the battle between man and the alien alliance, the Covenant, but that's a different matter. _

_For many years, battles were waged between the Red Army and the Blue Army, each with just a few main objectives; take out the enemy, capture their flag and try to win. But what these soldiers didn't know was that their battles weren't real; they were part of a simulation training exercise run by the Director of a secret assignment for the United Nations Space Command, Project Freelancer._

_Every now and then, when things grew bad for one side of the battle, they'd hire one of many agents known as Freelancers to help them turn the tide, little knowing that each agent was learning each variable in the battle to hone their skills for war. Each Freelancer was equipped with state of the art technology, including a special artificial intelligence unit. None of the so-called 'sim troopers' knew that they had been chosen to man their bases, because they were amongst the worst soldiers the military had ever drafted; some were too stupid, some were too lazy, some were terrible strategists and some just didn't give a damn._

_However, there was one base that housed the most exceptional of these sim-troopers; Outpost 1-A, codenamed 'Blood Gulch'. The Red and Blue teams stationed there were just the same as each of the other teams in the other bases, but their story with Project Freelancer was almost too astonishing for words._

_It started one day when each side received a new member which caused a great change for each side. The Red rookie managed to capture the Blue flag literally within minutes of arriving and the Blue Team had retaliated at once, although their rookie inadvertently killed their leader in the attempt. To even the sides, the Blues contacted Command to hire a Freelancer and their response was the arrival of Agent Texas._

_Texas helped the Blues recover their flag but trouble started in Blood Gulch when her AI partner, Omega jettisoned itself from her armor and corrupted one of the Blues, moments before she was killed by the Reds. She and the ghost of the Blue leader helped get Omega out but it then took over the mind of a simple medic on the scene and he then caused trouble for both sides._

_Realizing the seriousness of the situation, the Reds and Blues reluctantly joined forces to take on Omega, and his lackeys Wyoming and Gamma. They soon discovered that they planned to take out one of the Covenant's races from the inside. Texas immediately jumped at this chance to win the war and allowed Omega to take her over again, but the Reds and Blues outsmarted her, planting a bomb in her escape ship and ruining her plans._

_Sometime later, the war between humanity and Covenant came to an end and the Reds and Blues were reassigned to new bases. However, their troubles with Project Freelancer were far from over…_

_Just a year later, Texas's ship crash-landed in Outpost 17-B, codenamed Valhalla, and Omega began to cause trouble for the teams stationed there. Then a much greater threat arrived. A rogue Freelancer, known only as the Meta, came to Valhalla and captured not just Omega, but Gamma and Texas, who turned out to be the Beta AI. Then the Meta turned on the teams and killed them all, except for one Red who escaped to tell the tale._

_Desperate to quell this new threat, the Director sent out Agent Washington to track down the Meta and stop him, by any means necessary. Washington, who'd had troubles with his old AI partner Epsilon, tracked down the Blood Gulch Reds and Blues to aid him, but the Meta proved to be too powerful for any of them. But just when Wash was feeling helpless, the ghost of the Blues' leader gave some information planted in his teammate's mind, including the words "Memory is the key."_

_With these words, Wash realized that the only thing that could stop the Meta was the source of all the AI fragments, the Alpha AI. So he and the Reds and Blues infiltrated Command to find it. However, Wash then revealed the terrible truth of Project Freelancer; that the Director had been torturing the Alpha, forcing it to break apart, and then harvesting the pieces to create the fragments. He then gave the greatest news of all, that the Blues' leader was in fact the Alpha, integrated into Blood Gulch for its own protection. Wash helped the Reds and Blues to escape, taking with them the Alpha's memories, Epsilon, and then he activated Command's failsafe, a powerful EMP wave that destroyed all the other AI, including Alpha who sacrificed himself to slow down the Meta._

_Within hours, the UNSC, with info from the Oversight Sub-committee, arrived to investigate Project Freelancer, arresting all members involved with the criminal activities of the Director, including Wash and the Meta. But Wash soon discovered that the Blood Gulch Reds and Blues had not turned over Epsilon to the authorities, and he quickly made a bargain with the Oversight Chairperson; if he recovered Epsilon, then he would be released._

_So teaming up with the Meta, Wash set out to hunt down Epsilon, only to discover that the Reds and Blues had somehow succeeded in reviving the AI, as well as bringing back Agent Texas, the Beta AI. Wash and the Meta did battle with Texas and succeeded in trapping her in a special capture unit, but then the Meta betrayed Wash, claiming Texas for his own sinister purposes. But once again the Reds and Blues proved to be more than a match for the Freelancers. They succeeded in defeating the Meta, but Epsilon then went into the capture unit to try and free Texas and the unit sealed itself closed. Knowing that the Chairman was after him, Wash decided to fake his own death and joined the Blue Team as their new leader._

_Sometime later, the Reds and Blues were called upon by Carolina, a Freelancer thought to have been killed by the Meta, who asked them to help free Epsilon so she could use her memories to hunt down the Director. They broke into the archives where Epsilon was kept and successfully released him from the unit and though he was unsure how his memories could be of much help, the AI agreed to help Carolina. After many failed attempts, in which they were labeled wanted criminals of the UNSC, they eventually found the Director, only to discover that he'd been trying to use the Beta AI to help bring back his dead wife, Allison._

_Once again, the Reds and Blues were able to take on the Director's forces and together Carolina and Epsilon stopped the Director's crazy plans. With everything restored, Carolina and Epsilon took the Reds and Blues back to Blood Gulch to hide then they set off to help recover some missing tech from Project Freelancer._

_In time, the UNSC tracked down the Reds and Blues and arrested them for their crimes. During their trial, Wash was able to explain how their activities helped to bring an end to Project Freelancer once and for all, and take down the Director when everyone else had long since given up. With those facts, the UNSC pardoned the Reds and Blues and allowed them to return home to Blood Gulch. However, the journey home was not as simple as they had hoped…_

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Deep in a distant jungle, a trail of smoke billowed up over the trees, out from the small box canyon far from any civilization. The smoke came from the wreckage of a transporter ship, lying broken and scattered across the canyon. Around its hulk, two teams of Spartan-II super-soldiers, each colored in various shades of red and blue respectively, stood and assessed the damage.

"Not my fault," one Spartan in blue armor murmured.

"Absolutely, your fault," his teal teammate retorted.

Then one Spartan in scuffed red armor chuckled to himself. "Well, looks like we're gonna be here a while, better build some bases. Grif, Simmons, let's get to work!"

"Yes, Sir!" a maroon Spartan replied loyally.

"Oh, work? I hate work," his orange teammate groaned. "Work is the worst."

As the Reds set off to build a base, the last Spartan, wearing cobalt blue-and-yellow armor, just sighed and slapped his hand over his visor. "I think I am going to regret this."

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**And there you have it. I'll admit it's not the best work I've ever written, so if you have any ideas on how to improve it, let me know. Or just read my other stories for better context, I don't mind either way.**


	2. One-Zero-One

**Hello once again, faithful readers. No doubt by now that, like me, you've already watched the first few episodes of Red vs. Blue Season 11, and like me, you're probably wondering where Epsilon and Carolina are but I'm sure they'll be in this season sometime. But I digress.**

**Let me just give you an idea of how this story's going to go, which may mean revealing one of my secrets. Sometime after an episode airs, my source material for writing the previous stories, the Red vs. Blue Wiki page, usually takes a while to get the transcript for each episode so I'll only get to check my story when it's ready. At the moment, four episodes have aired on the Rooster Teeth website and at time of typing, the transcript for the fourth episode has yet to be completed. Also I was on holiday when the last two aired so this week will basically be catch-up week for me. Then for the rest of the season, I will release the chapter based on the episode on the week when it aired, any day, any time.**

**Just to remind you, I don't own Red vs. Blue or Halo; they respectively belong to Rooster Teeth, Microsoft, Bungie and 343 Industries, etc., etc.**

**So with that in mind… here we go again!**

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Chapter 1: One-Zero-One

On a distant planet many light-years from Earth, in the depths of a vast jungle, dawn had broken over a small box canyon, the sun's beams glinting off the wreckage of a large transporter ship and off the crude base built beneath it. After a while, a figure stepped out of the building and surveyed the scene before him. The man had the face of someone who'd been through the wars; his grey-green eyes had dark rings under them, a scar ran along the side of his forehead and his grizzled brown hair was scruffy and uncombed. He was dressed in a suit of Mark VI MJOLNIR armor, the kind worn by Spartan-II super-soldiers like him, colored cobalt blue with bright yellow stripes and he carried his helmet under one arm.

For a few moments, the Spartan stared around in silence. Then he made his way down to the ship's wreckage and looked it over for a while. A sigh escaped the soldier's lips then he sat down on a boulder, pressed a small button on his right gauntlet and spoke into a hidden microphone.

"Journal entry one-zero-one: Agent Washington. It's been a while since I've done one of these so, uh, let's get caught up to speed." Washington paused for a moment to look up at the sky then continued his entry. "Everything can be traced back to Project Freelancer, a military organization gone horribly wrong. The men in charge were corrupt, and the soldiers who followed them were blind. Guess which side _I_ was on?"

He sighed and bowed his head, remembering all the moments when everything went wrong. "Eventually it was the project's own creations that tore it to pieces and I was the one sent out to pick them up. I recovered weapons, armor and AI fragments, all in an effort to keep the wrong people from getting them first, but I was too slow. Everyone fought over the remnants of Project Freelancer. I didn't think I could believe in _anyone_ anymore. But then… I met the Reds and Blues."

Wash paused at this point and looked up towards the base. He could see one of his teammates, a Spartan wearing regulation blue armor, strolling across the canyon. Then another Spartan, this one wearing red armor that looked scratched and dented and had sergeant stripes on the shoulders, approached him from the other side. "Hey, Caboose!"

"Hello," the blue soldier called as he turned round.

"We've got a proposition for you," the red Spartan replied in a gruff Southern accent.

"For me?" Caboose gasped. "Oh well, you shouldn't have."

Wash chuckled to himself then went back to his journal. "They had been used by the Freelancers just like I had. They were cannon fodder in a conflict with no purpose. But more importantly…"

He looked up again and saw Caboose and the Red Sergeant making their way towards a teal-armored soldier leaning against the tread of a Scorpion-Class tank, flicking an energy sword on and off like a thug in a darkened alleyway.

"Tucker, the Reds gave us a proposition," Caboose called out. "We should really send them some sort of thank you basket like… fruit."

"Proposition just means a choice, you idiot," Tucker retorted.

"Oh," Caboose murmured. "We will take the fuzzy one."

"But you don't even know what the proposition is yet," the Sergeant pointed out.

"Well then, we don't know that it _isn't_ fuzzy then, do we?"

With a shake of his head, Wash continued his journal. "…They were just stupid enough to trust. Together, we were able to put an end to everything; the Freelancers, the AI, even the Director of the whole operation. They're all gone. And as for us, well…" He looked back at the wreckage and sighed. "We're shipwrecked, crashed during our ride home. And if we're not rescued soon, I have a feeling something else might find us first. This is Agent Washington signing-"

KABOOOOOOMMM! A huge explosion rocked the canyon and Wash leapt to his feet in alarm, pulling his helmet on over his head. "Oh, what now?!"

That explosion came from outside a roughly built base on the other side of the canyon, where at this moment, the Sergeant, better known as Sarge, was sitting in the cabin of the Blues' tank, firing its cannon at their own home.

Nearby, his maroon-armored teammate, Simmons, watched as Sarge fired another round which hit the canyon wall. "You missed, Sir."

"Dag nabbit!" Sarge bellowed, slamming his fist on the cabin console. "Who in Sam Hell set this thing to inverted?"

"Well sir, statistically most users enjoy…" Simmons broke off when he heard Sarge grumbling and quickly took a few steps back. "Well, er, it was probably Grif, sir."

"Hey! What the fuck is going on out here?!" At those shouts, a young man dressed in orange armor came running out of the base, carrying his helmet under one arm. He had long brown hair tied up in a ponytail and a startled look in his blue-grey eyes. "Who's firing at our base?"

"We are," Sarge replied.

Grif's jaw dropped and his helmet fell out of his hands. "_You_ are?"

"Our base is in desperate need of renovations," Sarge explained. "Figured I'd tear down the east wing and put in somethin' nice and decorative, like a mortar cannon."

"And it didn't occur to you to warn me before you started blowing holes in the side of the wall?" Grif asked.

Sarge was silent for a moment then he fired the tank's cannon again, hitting the wall right next to Grif, forcing him back. "Oh _come on!_"

"Direct hit, Sir," Simmons said.

"No it wasn't," Sarge sighed.

Just then, an angry voice rang out behind them. "What are you two doing?!"

Sarge and Simmons turned to see a cobalt-and-yellow Spartan running down the hill towards them.

"Well, if it isn't our good friend Agent Washington," Sarge smirked.

"Don't try to butter me up," Wash snapped. "Also, please refrain from pointing that at me."

"Fine," Sarge growled, turning the tank's turret away.

"We were just borrowing the tank for a little construction work," Simmons explained.

"Really? And which of my men authorized this?" Sarge and Simmons swapped knowing glances and Wash's shoulders sagged. "It was Caboose, wasn't-"

"Probably," Caboose cut in, running up behind Wash.

Wash sighed then stepped up towards the tank. "Sarge, get out of the tank."

"Not a chance, Blue!" Sarge retorted. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law. The other tenth is a tank. I've got both. Besides, we need it to upgrade our quarters."

"Your quarters are fine," Wash said.

"Yeah! Now get out of the tank, you senile old-" Grif was cut off as Sarge fired at the ground before him, throwing him off his feet. "Oh, fucking son of a bitch!"

"Finger slipped," Sarge muttered, giggling to himself.

"Out now!" Wash ordered, climbing onto the tank.

"My turn!" Caboose called out.

"Please be quiet," Wash said.

Caboose stepped back then he hissed, "My turn."

Ignoring Caboose, Wash pulled open the canopy, manhandled Sarge out the cabin and threw him to the ground, sending him sprawling in the grass.

"This is an outrage!" Sarge yelled, staggering to his feet. "Blue Base is built directly below the crash site. You've got an unfair advantage."

"Sarge, the Reds and Blues aren't fighting," Wash protested. "We're just camped at opposite ends of the canyon, in color divided teams… while heavily armed."

"True," Sarge admitted. "But have you ever considered that fightin' is just in our nature? It's almost instinctual. If we're not constantly trying to stab each other in the back… we'll surely die."

"Dear God, I hate you," Wash groaned, slapping his hand over his visor.

"That's the spirit." Sarge gave a hearty chuckle.

"We may not be fighting," Grif cut in, dusting his armor down, "but you're still closer to the food storage than we are, and that is something that I will not stand for."

"You won't stand for _anything_, fat-ass," Simmons scoffed.

Grif turned and glared at his teammate. "If you were a few feet closer, you'd be sorry."

"If we don't ration our food, we'll _all_ be sorry." Wash pointed at a large satellite dish built between the two bases, pointing towards the sky. "We've yet to get our communications dish online and if we run out of food before we can radio for help, we're screwed."

"Buzz kill," Grif muttered.

"Come on, Caboose," Wash called, climbing into the cabin. "We need to go have a chat with Private Tucker." With that, he drove the tank back towards the Blue Base and Caboose ran off after him.

"There goes the revered leader of the Blue Army," Simmons sighed. "What a dick."

"Fine! We don't need that tank anyway," Sarge called out. "As many great 21st century movies trailers once said, this… is only the beginning. And then text would appear on the screen, and the music would _cut out abruptly_, and they'd say one, final line of dialogue to leave the audience with the ultimate sense of excitement!"

"Like what?" Grif asked.

Sarge thought for a moment then shrugged. "I don't know."

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**Well, I don't know about you, but I'm certainly excited.**


	3. Get Your Tucks in a Row

**So far, things seem to be the same as the old episodes, but I'm still holding on to the hope of the season getting better.**

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Chapter 2: Get Your Tucks in a Row

At the Blue Base, Private Tucker had just finished his favorite alone time activity when he heard a loud rumbling coming from outside. After quickly dressing in his armor, save for his helmet, he ran outside and spotted the tank rolling up towards him. His face went a paler shade of brown and his eyes widened behind his glasses. "Oh shit…"

Just then, Caboose came out from behind the tank. "We are back."

"Caboose?" Tucker let out the breath he'd been holding in relief. "Christ, I thought you were in that thing. Wait, who _is_ in that thing?"

Right on cue, the tank's canopy opened and Washington climbed out of the cabin. "Hello, private."

Tucker gulped in terror. "Oh shit."

He turned to run back into the base, but Wash leapt nimbly off the tank, grabbed Tucker by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back. "Tucker, what is the one thing I tell you each and every morning?"

"Wake up?" Tucker winced.

"The _other_ thing."

"For the love of God, stop sleeping naked?"

Wash moved his hand up to Tucker's black hair and pulled it roughly, making the teal Spartan cry out in pain. "Don't let _anyone_ touch the tank."

"Okay," Tucker groaned in agony. "I can see where you're going with this."

"Until we're rescued, we need to be more mindful of the supplies that we have."

"I know, I know," Tucker replied. "Ration the food, maintain our equipment."

"Brush your teeth," Caboose added, "don't talk to strangers; try not to shoot anyone while they're trying to brush their teeth."

Wash pushed Tucker forward, sending him sprawling face first in the dust. "And _always_ report in to me."

"Do we have to?" Tucker groaned, sitting up.

"Yes. I even put up that old Blue Team organizational chart to help demonstrate the point."

As Tucker got to his feet, he looked towards an old chart pinned up on the wall outside the base. The chart had been with the Blues since he'd first arrived at Blood Gulch, showing him and Church as the lower ranks and Captain Butch Flowers as their leader. Since that day, Flowers had died of a heart attack and Church had changed the roster so that he was the leader then Caboose came along so he'd added his name next to Tucker's. Two other names showed on the chart; Doc, whose involvement with was questionable before he was crossed out, and Sister, whose name should have been removed, because the Reds had told her she was dead. Now Church's name had been crossed out and Wash's name was written next to it, declaring that he was the leader.

"Yeah, but we never really listened to that," Tucker admitted. "Church just kinda shouted orders and we'd get around to them… eventually. Or we wouldn't, whatever."

"He was an inspiration to us all," Caboose sniffed.

Wash sighed at Caboose and looked to the sky. Though the Blues had known their leader as Church, he'd found out that Church was in fact an AI called Alpha, from which all of Project Freelancer's AI fragments had come from. Tortured and manipulated for many years, the Alpha had eventually forgotten who he was, and the Director had discretely hidden him in Blood Gulch to protect him from the Freelancers who'd gone rogue.

That was years ago though. Alpha and the other fragments were gone now, destroyed by an EMP that Wash had set off. All, that is, except for one fragment, the Alpha's memories. This fragment, Epsilon, had been rescued by the Reds and Blues and eventually reactivated, taking on the personality of the original Alpha, so the others just kept calling him Church. With his memories, he and another Freelancer, Carolina, were able to locate the Director and put an end to his Project, for good.

Now Wash shook his head, bringing himself back to the present, and turned to Tucker. "Well, Church and Carolina decided to run off without so much as a goodbye. So it's up to me to keep us all together. Maybe if _someone_ hadn't have crashed the ship, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Whoa, wait a second," Tucker cried, taking a step back. "Why are you looking at me when you say that?"

"I just have a hard time believing that thousands of well trained crew members were to blame for the incident."

"Well, they definitely didn't survive it." Tucker laughed at his joke then stopped and sheepishly cleared his throat.

Wash raised an eyebrow. "Wow."

"Yeah…"

"You proud of yourself?"

Tucker sighed and bowed his head. "No…"

"Yeah, that was, that's too soon," Caboose agreed. "P-Probably too soon for sound effects too." He then turned round and made some quiet noises. "Meeeeer, oh God help us. Kapow." He turned back and saw the others glaring at him. "Yeah, that's too soon."

Meanwhile at the Red Base, Sarge paced up and down in front of his two privates. "Absolutely unacceptable!"

"I couldn't agree more, Sir," Simmons replied loyally.

"But you have no idea what he's going to say," Grif pointed out.

"Oh right," Simmons realized. "Yeah, I just got a little excited."

"You are the worst kind of person," Grif sighed.

"Quiet, morons," Sarge snapped. "We've got a situation on our hands."

"Which is?" Grif hinted.

"The deplorable condition of Red Base."

"You're still hung up on that?" Grif cried astonished. "We're stranded in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a mysterious, and seemingly uninhabited jungle might I add, and you're worried about the condition of our makeshift fort?"

"Besides," Simmons added, "I don't think our base is even _that_ bad."

"Well… I wouldn't say that."

"What? What's wrong with it?"

"Seriously?" Grif pointed towards the top of their crude shelter. "There's an enormous hole in the roof. Every night it rains, I get washed into the corner!"

"Oh, well yeah, there's that," Simmons admitted. "But I mean overall."

"And the majority of the west wing is made up of sandbags and rain tarps," Sarge said.

"Which reminds me," Grif butted in, "If we have rain tarps, why aren't we using _them_ to cover up the hole in the roof?"

"Listen," Simmons said, holding his hands up to quell the atmosphere. "I think you guys are blowing this whole thing a little out of proportion."

"You're just saying that because you're the one that designed the base," Grif retorted.

"Well, I did a better job than you would have done."

"That's not sayin' much," Sarge muttered.

"I bet I could at least do it in a better location," Grif scowled.

"But this is the _best_ location." Simmons waved his hand towards a small fenced-off area next to the base. "The sunlight is perfect for maintaining my vegetable garden." He then pointed up towards a huge black funnel jammed into the rocks overhead. "And the faulty engine from the ship should keep us warm all winter."

"But aren't slipspace engines extremely radioactive?" Sarge pointed out.

Grif stared at the engine for a moment. "Well, that would explain why my hair keeps falling out, and why all your cabbages have three heads."

Simmons gave a loud sniff. "I thought I was just really good at farming."

"No, Simmons," Grif replied, turning to head back to base. "You're good at other things, like always being on time, maintaining your virginity."

"Oh yeah?" Simmons yelled at his back. "Well, we'll see who's laughing when my garden produces a bountiful crop in the coming harvest!"

"Glad to hear you still have that virginity on lockdown, buddy!" Grif countered.

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**Yep, still business as usual for the Reds.**


	4. Barriers to Entry

**There's going to be some changes in this episode.**

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Chapter 3: Barriers to Entry

"Sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three…"

At the Blue Base, Washington watched as Tucker did some squats, as part of his new exercise routine for the Blue Team.

"Sixty-six," Tucker grunted as he trained. "Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine…" He suddenly stopped, still crouching on the ground.

"Tucker, you can't keep stopping on sixty-nine," Wash scolded.

"No," Tucker groaned. "This time, my legs went out."

Wash sighed and shook his head. "Come on." He stepped forward and helped Tucker get to his feet.

"Oh, holy Christ," Tucker moaned. "I haven't been this sore since that bachelorette party on Burban Street."

Wash folded his arms. "You want me to believe you banged an entire bachelorette party?"

"I want you to, but really the groom just showed up and cracked three of my ribs."

"That's what I thought."

Tucker sat down on a rock and stretched out his aching legs. "Why do we have to train so much? We never had to do squats when Church was in charge."

"Exactly," Wash replied. "I'd say you two have fallen out of shape, but generally in order to fall _out_ of something, you have to be _in_ it first."

"Hey, that's funny," Tucker giggled, getting up from the rock. "You should try comedy, Wash. Why make one person miserable, when you can work over an entire room?"

"Alright!" Wash shouted. "Time for sprints."

"Fuck you!" Tucker snapped.

"I want five laps around the canyon."

"Die in a fire!"

"Six laps, around the canyon!"

Tucker let out an angry growl but as he was about to set off, he looked round in confusion. "Hey, why isn't Caboose down here? Shouldn't you be making him do dumbbell rolls, or inverted push-ups or something?"

Wash sighed and looked towards the Base. "I think he's having one of his… off days."

Tucker nodded sympathetically. "Oh…"

Meanwhile, at the Red Base, Sarge came down the ramp inside the building to where Grif and Simmons were waiting. "Men, it has come to my attention that we have been approachin' this base problem from the wrong direction."

Simmons frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we've been approaching it from the outside," Sarge replied. "What we should have been focusin' on is the interior, the layout is all wrong. Upon reflection, I realized that a man of my military expertise requires more private quarters; a place where I can reflect on my vast victories, and contemplate on my non-existent failures."

"Is the place called denial?" Grif teased.

"Which is why I ordered Private Grif to erect this new wall."

Simmons glanced around the whole chamber for any sign of a new wall, but found nothing. "Okay, I give up."

"The sandbags," Grif sighed, pointing behind him.

Simmons turned and spotted a small layer of sandbags lying along the doorway. "What? That's the wall?"

Sarge ran up to look at the bags then turned to glare at the orange Spartan. "Grif, I asked you to give me a proper erection, not to stiff me!"

Simmons gave a loud chuckle. "So glad Donut's not here."

"Hey, it's not like I'm an expert carpenter or something," Grif retorted.

"This isn't even carpentry; this is stacking things in a straight line… poorly."

"Well, it's all I could find, so build a bridge and get over it!"

"Hey, Grif, when I build a bridge, should I use sandbags or you know, something fucking useful?"

"Useful or not," Sarge cut in, stepping over the sandbags, "I hereby declare that from this point forward, this side of the wall is to be reserved for my own personal use."

"Wait, wait, wait," Simmons cried. "You get half of the base to yourself? What about me and Grif?"

"Sorry Simmons," Sarge yelled out, turning his back on them. "Afraid I can't hear you from the next room; these walls are just too thick!"

"But I-"

"Enjoy your new roommate!" Sarge called out, running into the base with a chuckle.

Grif then stepped forward. "Ground rules, if there's a sock on the door, don't come in."

"But we don't have socks, or a door," Simmons pointed out.

"And I don't have an Internet connection," Grif added. "But we've all gotta find some way to masturbate now, don't we?"

**(…Wait, what?)**

Back at Blue Base, Wash left Tucker to his sprints and went into the Base to check on Caboose. As he approached the sleeping quarters, he could hear loud depressed noises coming from inside. "Sigh… Groan… Oh, woe is me… Oh, I don't know what that even means…"

As he stepped inside, Wash could see a helmetless Caboose staring at the mirror, not feeling his usual self. "Still standing in the corner, Caboose?"

The saddened Blue turned around as he heard Wash's voice, and the former Freelancer could see the streaks of tears running down his cheeks. "Oh yeah," Caboose sniffed, wiping his hand over his eyes. "Yeah, I just… I just miss Church sometimes."

"I know you do, buddy," Wash sighed. He knew that Caboose had shared a deep friendship with the original Church; a rather one-sided friendship, true, but a friendship nonetheless. It was the main reason why Caboose had revived Epsilon in the first place, so he could be friends with him too. And now Epsilon was gone, Caboose was left without a good friend. "He was your leader for a very long time."

"Yeah, I am just… I'm just so lost without him!" Caboose lifted up his helmet and gazed at it for a moment. "I… I don't even recognize my own face!"

"Well, you don't have your old helmet anymore, Caboose," Wash pointed out awkwardly. "Also, your helmet and your face are not the same thing."

Caboose looked up at the mirror again then back at his helmet. "Oh God, that explains the blinking contest. Why'd you have to tell me that? Ohh, you just made it worse."

Wash stepped forward and placed a hand on the Blue's shoulder. "Look, Caboose, I'm sure that somewhere out there, Church is thinking about how much he misses you too."

Caboose turned round, his face looking hopeful. "You really think so?"

Wash just grimaced slightly, remembering one of the last conversations he'd heard Caboose and Epsilon had once; Caboose just rambled on and on about almost nothing, and all Epsilon did was yell at him to shut up. "Yeah…"

He then led Caboose out of the base. "Why don't you go for a walk? Take a little time to clear your head."

Caboose just nodded slowly. "Yeah… Yeah, I'll just… I'll go on a walk by myself, I guess. That won't be depressing at all." With that, he put on his helmet and set off into the canyon, but moments after he left, he let out another moan. "Oh God, I'm walking by myself now. Ohhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhh!"

Wash sighed and shook his head. "What am I going to do with him?" He then looked round and spotted Tucker walking slowly towards the base. "I said sprints, Private Tucker!"

"I'm going to spit in your next meal!" Tucker snapped, picking up the pace. "And it's not going to be spit, if you know what I'm talking about!"

* * *

**One word springs to mind here: Ewww.**


	5. Heavy Mettle

**A great mystery is in store for this episode.**

* * *

Chapter 4: Heavy Mettle

With a heavy heart, Caboose wandered across the canyon towards the walls, still despondent over Epsilon's departure. "Depression… Loneliness… Confusion… Slight indigestion…"

After a while, he stopped and gave a huge sigh then he took off his helmet, wiped some tears from his eyes and looked up to the heavens. "Oh Church… I miss you so much! Who is supposed to be my best friend while you are gone? Tucker? That guy isn't even a shade of blue. It's like an… aqua."

Suddenly, a loud clattering noise rang out from the cliff and Caboose started in alarm, dropping his helmet which rolled off down into a dark cavern.

"Hello?" he called out, raising his rifle as he approached the cave. "Who's there? Tucker, is that you? Agent Washington?"

He stopped at the entrance, keeping his finger on the trigger. "Hello!"

"Hello…" a faint voice responded, sounding just like Caboose.

"Oh, that was just me," he sighed in relief. "That was stupid." He knelt down to pick up his helmet then called out, "Have a nice day!"

"Thanks, you too!" his echo replied.

"Well, I am a very pleasant person," he chuckled, turning to leave.

But then another clatter rang out, much louder this time, and he whirled back round with fright. "Okay, me, you can cut it out now!" he called out nervously. "This is getting a little silly."

Cautiously, he stepped further into the cave… and what he found inside made him gasp in amazement. "Hello…"

At the Blue Base, Washington led Tucker over towards a cave in the cliffs by their base. "Tucker, in basic training, there is a point when the drill sergeant attempts to 'break' his or her soldiers, so that they may overcome their civilian mindset and focus on the responsibility and selflessness of becoming a true soldier."

Tucker frowned. "Uh, bro, I went through basic ages ago. True soldier, standing right here!"

"What's the UNSC motto?"

"When in doubt, rub it out."

Wash stepped right up to Tucker's helmeted face and narrowed his eyes. "I am going to _break you_, Private Tucker."

"Ooh, I'm shaking in my armor," Tucker scoffed.

Wash then pointed to two construction cones acting like a marker in front of the cave. "Inside this tunnel is an elaborate obstacle course, designed to test both your reflexes and your mettle."

"Uh, like copper?"

"No, that's metal, I said mettle."

"Whatever."

Wash took out his pistol and raised it to the air. "On your marks… get set…"

"This is such bullsh- OW!" Tucker yelped as Wash shot him in the leg and he darted into the cave. "Okay, I'm going!"

He leapt over a low wall of sandbags then he shot at four cones mounted on some crates but only succeeded in hitting one. "Stupid fucking cones!"

A barrier made of wooden crate lids was taken out with one swing of his energy sword but the moment he entered the next chamber, he was blown backwards by some mines. "Jesus Christ!"

As he then crawled down a low tunnel, bullets flew out from nowhere and bounced off his helmet. "Oh God, where is this coming from?"

He emerged out into a huge desert landscape and took off running as soldiers opened fire on him. "Who are these people?"

Then suddenly a Warthog-Class jeep roared round the corner and he pelted into the next tunnel to escape before it could fire at him. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

Finally, he emerged from the tunnel, crossed the finish line and collapsed in a heap at Wash's feet.

"Congratulations, Private," Wash praised, checking his time on the stopwatch. "That time was… adequate… for a beginner."

Tucker just gasped and panted like he'd been almost drowned, struggling to get his words out. "What was… I don't…"

"Just an adrenaline rush, Tucker," Wash reassured. "It'll wear off."

"I'm… I'm…"

"Shaking in your armor?"

Just then, Caboose came running up to them, muttering to himself in glee. "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy… Hello, hello!"

"Caboose, glad to see you're feeling better," Wash called out. "I've got a little exercise for you! Inside this cave is an elaborate obstacle course, designed to-"

But Caboose just ran into the tunnel and two seconds later, he crossed the finish line and ran off into the base. "Okay, that was fun, gotta go do stuff, don't ask questions, thank you, goodbye!"

Wash's jaw dropped as he looked at the stopwatch again. "I… think that's enough training for today."

"Yeah," Tucker agreed breathlessly, rolling onto his back.

"Uh, I'm gonna go work on the Comm. Tower," Wash decided, setting off into the canyon.

"Yeah…"

Meanwhile at the Red Base, Simmons came out of the sleeping quarters and spotted Grif as he came down the ramp. "Hey roomie, uh you got a second for me?"

"'Sup?" Grif called.

"Oh, you know, not much, not much," Simmons replied nonchalantly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Uh… Oh, so, question for you…"

"Uh huh."

"By any chance have you seen my toothbrush?"

"Uhhh, I don't think so."

"Okay, okay. You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Simmons rubbed his chin in thought. "'Cause I'm pretty sure I saw you with it earlier."

Grif frowned in concern. "Dude, you're acting weird."

"Huh, what?" Simmons replied. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, clearly you're accusing me of using your toothbrush but instead of just coming out and saying it, you're being really passive aggressive and tiptoeing around the accusation."

"Huh," Simmons grunted.

"You did the same thing when I left the lights on and when I put my boots on your side of the room."

"Mmmhmmm," Simmons murmured through pursed lips.

"And I feel that there's this constant tension growing between us that's inevitably going to erupt over what would normally be considered a small issue."

"Yeah, well, you know," Simmons said with a shrug. "I wouldn't be asking you about my toothbrush if I hadn't seen you with it earlier."

"I used your toothbrush."

"YOU FUCK!" Suddenly, Simmons lashed out and slammed Grif into the wall, pointing his rifle at his head.

"Dude, what's wrong with you?" Grif gasped.

"What's wrong with _me?_" Simmons snapped. "What's wrong with **_you?_** You keep stacking dishes in the sink! I don't even think you've eaten off of some of them! For all I know, you're doing it because you're fucking bored!"

"Wait, isn't the sink just where dishes go?"

"NO! They go in the cupboard!"

"We have a cupboard?"

"Hey, keep it down in there!" Sarge bellowed, running up to the sandbags that divided their base. "I'm tryin' to watch my stories."

Upon hearing Sarge's voice, Simmons let go of Grif and ran up to his side of the bags. "Sarge, please tear down the wall!" he begged. "I can't take Grif's laziness in small spaces!"

"I'm sorry, Simmons," Sarge replied. "But we all have to make sacrifices… except for me because I'm in charge."

"Hey, Simmons," Grif called out, getting to his feet. "This probably isn't the best time to say this, but, uh, we're out of toilet paper."

"What?!" Simmons screamed, rounding on Grif. "HOW!?"

Grif just glanced over his shoulder, remembering that he'd been out TP'ing the Blues' tank, but then quickly decided against telling Simmons. "I dunno."

Simmons gave an angry growl and stomped towards Grif, intending to throttle him like there's no tomorrow. Just then, a loud cough rang out behind them and the Reds turned to find Washington coming down the base's ramp. "I believe you borrowed my toolbox."

"What do you need a toolbox for?" Sarge asked.

"Repairing the Comm. Tower," Wash replied. "I know you three are having fun playing house, but I'd really rather leave this place."

"Playin' house?" Sarge cried, stepping over the wall. "Son, this is a highly- Whoops, forgot to use the door!" He stepped back over the bags and ran off to the door on the other side of the room.

Wash sighed and rolled his eyes then turned to the others. "The toolbox."

"Upstairs," Grif replied.

"Show me."

"Fine," Grif sighed, leading Wash up the ramp into the sleeping quarters. "But don't touch any of my stuff!"

Simmons watched them go then seconds later, he heard Wash's voice cry out in disgust. "Ugh, this place is a pigsty!"

"It's not a pigsty, Wash," Grif retorted. "It's a way of life."

Simmons then turned to his leader who had just entered through the side door. "Hey Sarge, didn't we recover an old robot-building kit from the crash?"

"Sure did," Sarge replied. "It makes a great foot rest! I like to prop my feet up while I'm watchin' my stories."

"Well, if we were to repurpose the robot's radio transmitter for the Comm. Tower, we might be able to-"

"Whoa, hold up," Sarge cut in, raising his hand for silence. "Simmons, I'm going to have to stop you before your terrible plan becomes any more terrible."

"Oh…" Simmons bowed his head in disappointment.

"Fortunately, I believe we may be able to use this robot kit to build some sort of robot! We could put it to work constructing a radio transmitter and then the Comm. Tower would be fixed in no time!"

"Well, don't you think it would be better if-"

"Not at all," Sarge interrupted, running back over the sandbags. "Let's build a robot!"

Simmons' shoulders sagged and he shook his head. "I hate them."

Then Wash's voice rang out again. "Are those my socks?"

"Yeah," Grif admitted sheepishly. "But you probably don't want those back."

Simmons sighed in dismay. "I hate all of them."

* * *

**Well, what can you do? You're stuck with them.**


	6. A Real Fixer Upper

**A new member is about to be introduced... sort of.**

* * *

Chapter 5: A Real Fixer Upper

Once he was able to scrounge up the toolbox and some equipment from the ship's on board Warthog-Class jeeps, Washington returned to the Comm. Tower and set to work on its repairs.

For several hours, he worked on the transmitter while Tucker handed him tools, but as night fell over the canyon, the teal Spartan was still worried about their situation. "I'm just saying, I still think somebody should have found us by now."

Wash just nodded as he picked up a socket wrench.

"You know, it's like, if a plane crashes and disappears, that's fine, civilians, whatever."

"Not sure if I agree with you on that," Wash muttered.

"But this was a fucking spaceship." Tucker held out his arms to show the scale of the wreck. "That's like, national tragedy level of important."

"It was a big ship," Wash agreed.

"And what about GPS? The Galactic Positioning System should have been able to inform Command of our location within seconds of a mayday."

Wash dropped his tool and turned to look at Tucker. "How do you know that?"

Tucker suddenly looked nervous. "Uh…"

_Flashback_

_On board the transport ship, all the crew were hard at work, making sure their passengers were comfortable. Grif was in the cafeteria catching up with his Oreo diet, Simmons and Wash were exploring the ship's levels, Sarge was keeping an eye on Caboose, making sure he didn't touch anything or 'accidentally' kill anyone and Tucker was getting a guided tour of the flight deck._

_The soldier giving the tour had now pointed out a special piece of equipment and was explaining how it worked. "…And the Galactic Positioning System would be able to inform Command of our location within seconds of a mayday. So even if the ship _were_ to crash, rescue would be practically immediate. Isn't that rad?"_

_But Tucker wasn't really listening. "Yeah, cool, nerd stuff." He then eyed the cockpit with a cheeky grin. "Hey, Smirgler, is it just me or is that blonde over there checking me out?"_

_Smirgler turned round to see who Tucker was looking at. "Who, the pilot?"_

"_Yeah, she's definitely checking me out," Tucker chuckled then he ran towards the cockpit._

"_Wait!" Smirgler cried. "You can't go over there!"_

_But it was too late. Tucker had stepped up to the pilot and leaned against the seat. "Hey baby, I hear you're a pilot. Think you can pull up on my throttle? Bow chicka bow wow!"_

_At that moment, alarms began to blare around the ship and red lights flashed on._

_End Flashback because I'm sure you can work out the rest_

Tucker gave a loud cough. "I… read it in a book?"

"I don't believe you," Wash retorted, returning to his work. "Then again, I don't really care."

"Phew…" Tucker breathed a sigh of relief.

Wash then got to his feet. "Hey!"

"Whoa, whoa, what? Nothing!" Tucker yelped.

"What happened to my soldering iron?"

"Oh, uh…" Tucker cleared his throat. "I don't know."

"Dammit!" Wash snapped, slamming his fist on the console. "This would be going so much faster if I didn't have to keep tracking down equipment every five minutes."

"What, you think the Reds took it?"

"Let me put it this way…" Wash picked up an old shotgun and then spoke in a rough imitation of Sarge. "'Men, it appears our shitty fortifications weren't meeting my ridiculous standards. Let's steal Washington's tank and fire at our walls; that'll fix it.' Yes, I think the Reds took it."

"Man, why are you so wound-up all the time?"

"Because every second we're here is another second closer to death… or worse."

Tucker frowned. "What's worse than death?"

"I… don't know," Wash admitted, getting back to work. "I just thought it sounded dramatic."

"Come on," Tucker scoffed. "It's not that bad. I mean, if we were back at Blood Gulch, we'd be doing the exact same shit, you know?"

Wash looked up and glanced suspiciously around the canyon. "There's just something about this place… I can't help but feel like we're being watched."

"Oh, please. People get that feeling all the time. I had it for years."

"But that's because you _were_ being watched! You were monitored by a secret organization for every second of every day."

Tucker looked around for a moment, as if he was trying to spot some hidden cameras. "Well, I don't feel like I'm being watched now."

"Thank you," Wash sighed sarcastically. "I feel much more secure."

"Don't be a dick," Tucker scowled.

"Then don't be an idiot," Wash snapped, grabbing his teammate's chest-plate.

"The fuck is your problem?"

Wash sighed and pushed Tucker back. "My problem is that you're absolutely right. Somebody should have found us by now." He then turned back to his toolbox. "Now where the hell is that Goddamn soldering iron?"

At that moment, Caboose hurried back across the canyon towards the hidden cave, soldering iron under one arm and welder's mask in his other hand. He hoped Wash didn't need it for anything important. Soon, he entered the cave and approached a huge pile of rusty metal debris and knelt down next to it. "Boy, you are lucky I came by," he said with a smile. "What's a little fella like you doing way out here?"

Just then, the pile shifted and Caboose placed a hand on it. "Hey, no moving! I have to get you out of here first."

With that, he put the mask on over his face, switched on the soldering iron and set to work on the scrap, a possessed grin on his face. "Don't worry, we're gonna be best friends…"

The next morning, at the Red Base, Sarge had just about finished his new robot. It was dressed in dark brown armor and its head was bowed low, its eyes black and lifeless.

Nearby, Grif and Simmons were caught up in yet another argument. "You're an idiot," Simmons scowled.

"Am I, Simmons?" Grif retorted, folding his arms. "Or am I just a man willing to ask the hard questions?"

"You're definitely an idiot," Simmons repeated.

"You're both idiots," Sarge called over his shoulder. "Now keep it down, I'm trying to focus."

"Think about it," Grif cried. "Terminator; The Matrix; Battlestar Galactica… Everything points to robot domination of the human race!"

"Well, technically," Simmons cut in. "Some Cylons rely more on synthetic biology and not just simple robotics. But that was only in the series reboot, and you know those things are pretty rare."

"Fine, then Wall-E. It doesn't matter! I just think it's strange that we're not already bowing down to our robot overlords."

"I'm a cyborg," Simmons reminded him. "You want to bow down to me?"

"Pass," Grif scoffed.

Simmons then pointed his rifle at Grif's head. "Fuck you, meat sack," he spoke in a robotic monotone. "Your logic is flawed."

Grif sighed and slapped a hand over his visor. "You are the biggest fucking nerd, you know that, right? I mean you really know that?"

"You must construct additional pylons. Berrrp, beep, vuuurrrp."

Just then, Sarge got to his feet. "Well, Optimus Prime's knuckles, I think we're in business." He then gave the robot a hard slap on the back and stepped back as it powered up. Then it slowly raised its head and its eyes glowed a gentle green.

With a chuckle, Sarge turned to his two privates. "Ladies, I would like to introduce you to the latest addition to the Red Team."

Grif and Simmons stared at the robot for a moment then Simmons frowned. "Can it talk?"

The robot took a moment to regard his new team then after a while, it spoke. "Ola." (Hello.)

"Oh come on!" Grif cried.

"Goddamn it!" Simmons added.

"Hmm, that is an unfortunate coincidence," Sarge muttered.

"Spanish," Grif groaned, shaking his head in dismay. "Why is it fucking Spanish? Why not French, or German, or Sangheili?"

"Lo siento," the robot apologized. "¿Mi elección de idiom no complacer te? Mi configuración del sistema actualmente se establecen en Español." (I'm sorry. Does my language choice not please you? My system settings are currently set in Spanish.)"

Sarge just gave a hearty chortle. "You know, it almost feels like the good ol' days; just me, the Spanish speakin' robot and a couple of complete idiots."

Simmons frowned. "You're talking about Grif and Donut, right?"

"Thanks, dickhead," Grif snorted.

Sarge patted the robot on the shoulder. "Lopez dos.0, it's good to have you on board."

"Gracias, maestro," the robot replied. "Es mi deber-" (Thank you, Master. It is my duty to-)

"Now get to work, slacker!"

Lopez 2.0 looked startled. "¿Perdón?" (Excuse me?)

"Comm. Tower, middle of the canyon, repair-o los rapido."

"It's Spanish, Sarge, not Harry Potter," Grif sighed.

Lopez 2.0 rubbed his chin in thought. "Sueno como si usted tiene algun equipo que está en necesidad de reparación. ¿Eso es correcto?" (It sounds as if you have equipment that's in need of repair. Is that correct?)

The Reds just swapped confused looks.

"Hmm, it's not doing anything," Sarge grunted.

"Maybe he's stupid," Grif suggested.

Sarge turned to Lopez 2.0. "Robot, do you… understand… us? Comprehende?"

"Sí," Lopez 2.0 replied with a nod. (Yes.)

"Well, he knows what we're saying," Simmons noted. "So… I guess he's just stupid."

"Les puedo asegura," Lopez 2.0 insisted. "Éso a realizando a una encima de la media-" (I can assure you, I am performing at an above average-)

"Oh, poor stupid Lopez dos.0," Sarge sighed. "Well, let's just take him over to the Comm. Tower."

"Why?" Grif asked. "He's a moron."

"Yep," Sarge admitted. "But maybe he'll end up being a Rain Man type moron. We can get him one of those gray suits."

Lopez 2.0 just bowed his head. "Haré mi mejor dispuesto para servile a usted amo." (I will do my best to serve you.)

Simmons just sighed and shook his head. "What a shame."

* * *

**So far, I'm liking this Lopez a bit better than Lopez 1.0.**


	7. SOS

**Get ready for a few surprises in this episode.**

* * *

Chapter 6: S.O.S.

In the canyon, all was quiet. A small flock of birds landed by the caves to gather some seeds then suddenly a loud whirring noise rang out from inside the cave, followed by a loud yell that startled the flock.

"It's alive," Caboose called out. "It's alive! It's ali- Aw, now it's dead."

But then another loud whir rang out. "No, it's alive again!" Caboose cheered. "Oh thank God, that was close."

At the Comm. Tower, unaware of his teammate's actions, Tucker glanced over some equipment at the tower's base then looked up to where Washington was still working. "Okay, how 'bout now?"

Wash flicked the radio's switch on then off again. "Nothing."

"Hold on." Tucker disappeared under the tower for a while then came out again. "Okay, try it again."

Wash flicked the switch again. "Still nothing."

"Balls," Tucker groaned.

Wash then ran up to the edge of the platform and looked down at Tucker. "Hey, what exactly are you doing down there?"

"Oh, you know… calibrating."

Wash raised an eyebrow. "Calibrating."

"Yeah."

"You haven't done anything, have you?"

"Dude, I don't know what I'm doing or why you sent me here."

"Right," Wash sighed, turning back to the radio. "Guess I should have expected that."

"Hey, Wash," Tucker then called out. "I think we got a situation."

"What kind of…" Wash tailed off as he looked up and spotted the Reds approaching the Tower. "Oh."

"Good to see you too," Grif snorted.

"What do you want?"

"We figured it'd be a good idea to come over and lend a hand," Sarge replied.

"No, that's a terrible idea," Wash retorted. "Please don't touch anything."

"But we could provide tech support!" Simmons insisted.

"Have you tried usin' any D batteries?" Sarge added.

"Power isn't our problem," Wash replied impatiently. "These battery arrays are solar."

"Well, there's your problem. This baby needs to be converted to diesel on the pronto!"

"Solar is field-standard for communication systems."

"Well, ooh-la-la, Private Hippy!" Sarge replied in a mocking sing-song voice. "Hey, I got an idea: Why don't we just plant a garden and grow some organic sun-dried tomatoes, and open a farmer's market? Then on the first Saturday of the month, when the UNSC ships show up to buy some fresh sustainable produce, we just hop aboard and ride back on the power of love!"

Wash glared at him for a moment. "Tucker, if they touch anything, or if he makes any more suggestions, prod them with your sword."

"Oh yeah," Tucker chuckled as he switched on his sword. "Now that's something I can get behind! Bow chicka bow-" He paused suddenly. "Wait, no! No no no no no!"

"Fine," Sarge huffed. "Well, I guess you don't want any help from our incredibly advanced robotic companion."

At this, Lopez 2.0 stepped forward and waved to the Blues. "Ola." (Hello.)

"Nope!" Wash called out.

"Racist," Grif muttered.

"Hey tree-hugger, what if I told you it runs on recycled cooking grease?" Sarge teased. "It's perfect. Grif sweats the stuff."

"What else was I supposed to drink once we ran out of soda?" Grif agreed.

"There's always water," Simmons replied.

"Please," Grif scoffed. "What are we, cavemen?"

"I said no," Wash yelled.

"¿Seguro que no quieres ayudar?" Lopez 2.0 asked, pointing to some disconnected cables hidden behind some crates. "Esto parece ser una solución relativamente simplé." (Are you sure you don't want help? This looks like a relatively simple fix.)

"Whoa," Tucker gasped, hearing the robot's words. "Is that Lopez?!"

"Not exactly." Simmons then whispered behind his hand, "This one isn't very smart."

"En serio, chicos," Lopez 2.0 insisted. "Estoy buscando en el problema. Yo puedo arreglarlo ahora." (Seriously guys, I'm looking at the problem. I can fix it right away.)"

Tucker stared at the robot for a moment. "How can you tell?"

"Oh, a mother knows," Sarge replied.

"Bueno," Lopez 2.0 decided. "Si nadie me va a parar, voy a arreglar se torre de radio." With that, he ran off towards the cables and set to work. ( no one is going to stop me, I'm going to fix your radio tower.)

"Why don't you three go check on our food supply?" Wash suggested. "It's been a while since I've done a full inventory."

"You can't shove your bitch work on us!" Simmons snapped. "What do we look like?"

"Uhhhh… Bitches?" Tucker replied.

"Tucker, I want 100 squats," Wash ordered.

"What? But it was leg day yesterday!"

"You are a space marine, private. Every day is leg day."

Tucker groaned as he began his squats. "This is bullshit."

"Ha!" Grif gloated. "Who is the bitch now?"

"Your sister was my bitch if I remember correctly."

"What did you say to me, bitch?"

"No one is a bitch," Wash yelled, losing his patience. "Now both of you be quiet."

Grif bowed his head. "Simmons is kind of a bitch."

"Hey!" Simmons snapped. "What the fuck?!"

"Ah, can it, Private Bitch," Sarge ordered.

"Yes, sir," Simmons replied.

"Bitch," Grif and Tucker snickered.

"I said BE QUIET!" Wash bellowed, smashing his fist into the radio box… and suddenly the radio switched on with a loud trill.

Grif's jaw dropped in amazement. "Holy shit…"

"It's working…" Wash stared at his fist then back at the radio then gave a disbelieving laugh. "I don't know what I did, but it's working!"

"Camaradas! He reparado la torre de radio!" Lopez 2.0 called out, emerging from beneath the platform. "¿Estás satisfecho con mi actuación?" (Comrades! I have repaired the radio tower! Are you pleased with my performance?)"

"Lopez, you're ruining the moment," Sarge scolded.

Quickly, Wash switched it on and began his broadcast. "Mayday, mayday, this is Agent Washington, can anyone read me? Over."

They waited tensely, but there was no reply.

"Maybe they're screening our calls," Grif suggested.

"What do you mean 'they'?" Simmons asked puzzled. "Who's 'they'?"

"I dunno, people who know us?"

"What?"

"Look, I wouldn't pick up the phone if any of you fuckers called me."

Wash tried again. "Mayday, mayday, we are survivors of a shipwreck and are in need of immediate rescue. Please respond."

"Don't call them back right away," Tucker said. "You gotta wait or else you'll look desperate."

"But we are desperate!" Simmons pointed out.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Wash screamed.

And everyone was immediately silent except for Grif who just breathed, "Whoa…"

Taking a breath to calm down, Wash got back on the radio. "Mayday, mayday, this is Agent Washington and the Red and Blue troopers of Project Freelancer! We are stranded, does anyone copy?"

He waited for a response but none came.

"Mayday, this is Agent Washington, I am a soldier."

Still no reply.

"Is anybody out there?"

Again, the radio was silent.

"Can anybody hear me?!"

Then finally a faint voice, slightly obscured by static, responded on the radio. "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Yes!" Wash cried out in relief. "Yes, we're here! Do you read us?"

"Hello?" the voice called out. "Is this a prank call?"

"No no no no, this is real!" Wash insisted. "Please you have to listen to me! My men and I are shipwrecked!"

"It's an emergency!" Simmons yelled.

"Black Hawk down!" Grif shouted.

"Code Red!" Sarge bellowed.

The voice was silent for a moment then… "What? Like a lightish red?"

At this, everyone's jaw fell open in shock.

"What the fuck did he just say?" Tucker breathed.

"'Cause I mean, red is a pretty broad spectrum," the voice continued. "There's scarlet, vermilion, like a deep burgundy."

Immediately, Sarge ran up to the radio and pushed Wash aside. "Donut, is that you?"

"Sarge?" the voice gasped in amazement. "Oh hey guys, what have you all been up to?"

"We're stranded in the middle of the jungle with dwindling food and limited supplies."

Donut let out a low whistle. "That sucks."

"No shit, dickhead!" Grif shouted.

"Donut, I need you to listen to me," Sarge called out urgently. "You need to send help. Call Command."

"Command?" Donut asked puzzled. "I think I know a guy if you want to turn this call into a three way."

"No, don't do that," Sarge cut in. "I need you to write down these coordinates."

While Sarge gave the coordinates, Wash turned to the others. "Who is Donut again?"

"Cheery guy," Simmons explained. "Pink armor."

"Kind of stupid," Grif added.

"And a little…" Tucker waved his hand horizontally.

Wash then remembered something. "Wait, did I shoot him once?"

"Bingo," Grif replied.

"Got it," Wash said. "And he's competent enough to trust with our lives?"

At that moment, Donut spoke up. "Sorry, did you say five or nine?"

"I said eight," Sarge replied.

"Oh."

"Right…" Wash quickly took over from Sarge. "Okay, Donut, these are our last known coordinates but be sure to let the rescue team know that we've got no clue where we actually landed."

"Don't worry, guys," Donut reassured. "No matter how deep the bush, Private Donut always finds his man."

Sarge swapped a very nervous look with Wash. "Roger that, son."

"What was that?" Donut called out, as static frizzled into the radio. "You're breaking up."

"Just send help as fast as you can," Wash shouted.

"Okey dokey!" And with that, the connection was lost.

At the base of the tower, Grif gave a hopeful look. "So what happened?"

Sarge sighed and jumped down from the platform. "Well boys, I don't want to jinx us or anything like that, but…" He then looked up with a huge grin on his face. "We're gonna be rescued!"

"YAHOO!" Tucker cheered, throwing his deactivated sword into the air.

"We're saved!" Grif shouted gleefully.

"I can't believe help's coming!" Simmons yelled.

Wash glanced at the tower nervously. "Now guys-"

"There's no possible way anything can go wrong!" Sarge yelled out. "Everything is going to be good forever!"

Grif and Simmons linked arms and launched into a wild victory dance. Tucker leaped onto the bonnet of the Warthog and jumped up and down in joy.

"Guys," Wash called out. "It can still be a few days before they-"

But Sarge wasn't listening. "Let's eat all the food rations tonight and then fire all of our excessive ammunition indiscriminately into the air and celebrate!"

With loud cheers, the Reds and Tucker drew out their guns and began to shoot them into the air.

"Then let's fix up that old Warthog that's been hanging around near our base!" Simmons yelled.

The gang's cheers quickly faded into confused mutterings.

"…So we can crash it into the other Warthog because fuck it!"

Everyone cheered once again, all except for Wash. "Listen, let's not get our hopes up just yet."

"Aw, come on, Wash, lighten up," Tucker called out. "We did it, we made contact."

Wash thought about it then jumped down to join them. "Well, it is the first good news that we've had in a while."

Just then Caboose came running up to the group, helmet under his arm and a big grin on his face. "Hey everyone!"

"Caboose, where've you been?" Wash asked.

"Yeah, I went on a walk like you said," Caboose replied with breathless gusto. "And now, everything is going to be good, forever!"

"Told ya so!" Sarge laughed.

"Wait," Wash cried, furrowing his brows in confusion. "Caboose, you were miserable. What happened?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" Caboose gasped, slapping his forehead. "I haven't even introduced him."

"Introduced who?"

In reply, Caboose glanced over his shoulder. "Freckles! Come!" He put two fingers into his mouth and gave a loud shrill whistle.

Suddenly, loud heavy footsteps came thumping down from the other side of the canyon, shaking the ground and knocking Tucker and Grif off their feet. Wash, Simmons and Sarge just stared in mute horror and even Lopez 2.0 took a step back in alarm… as a huge machine came stomping into view.

The gun metal green machine looked very humanoid, except it was as tall as two Spartan-IIs standing on each other's shoulders. It stood on two double-jointed legs and had a long column built between it like a metal loincloth. Its right arm ended in a big machine gun turret and its left had a missile launcher in place of a hand. It had a radar dish over its left shoulder and inside its torso, a small white seat was built into it like a small cockpit.

Caboose stepped up next to the machine and patted its leg. "Everyone, I would like you to meet Freckles!" he shouted, turning to look at the robot. "Freckles, say hello."

The robot regarded the Reds and Blues then focused its attention on Grif and Simmons. "ENEMY SOLDIERS DETECTED," it announced in a deep robotic drone.

"No, those aren't enemies, Freckles," Caboose replied. "Those are Grif and Simmons... our enemy."

Freckles raised its missile launcher arm and began to power it up. "FIRING MAIN CANNON."

"No!" Caboose scolded, hitting his helmet on its side. "Bad Freckles! Down!"

"YES, MASTER," Freckles replied, obediently lowering its arm.

"Bad Freckles…" Caboose then turned to the others. "So, what have you guys been up to?"

Everyone just stared in horrified silence, except for Grif. "Ehh… um…"

* * *

Meanwhile, in the depths of a dark, misty forest, a lone figure sat under the shade of a tree, listening to the static on the radio. Then suddenly, the static faded and a faint voice called out. "Mayday, mayday, this is Agent Washington and the Red and Blue troopers of Project Freelancer! We are stranded, does anyone copy?"

The figure sat up and looked towards the radio, listening to the voice. "Mayday, this is Agent Washington, I am a soldier."

He got to his feet and stepped out of the shade, the sun glinting off his armor which was steel-grey with sage-green stripes.

"Is anybody out there?"

He listened intently as the voice continued its broadcast.

"Can anybody hear me?!"

As the radio's signal faded, the figure gave a sinister grin, a grin that was hidden behind his visorless helmet, and picked up his gun…

* * *

**Ooh, suddenly this is getting mysterious.**


	8. Can I Keep It?

**Our new friend will be the main subject of this episode.**

* * *

Chapter 7: Can I Keep It?

At the Blue Base, Tucker and Washington just stared silently at the imposing figure of Caboose's new friend.

After a while, Tucker cleared his throat. "So…" He jumped back as the robot turned towards him. "Never mind."

Wash then stepped forward. "Caboose, tell me again" he said, ignoring the robot as it turned to him. "Where did you find this… robot?"

"His name is Freckles," Caboose cut in.

"That's a stupid name," Tucker scoffed then he gulped as Freckles turned back to him. "Stupid-cool, I mean! Great name, I mean, I wish that were my name. Yeah, Freckles is the best name ever that there ever was."

Wash rolled his eyes. "Technically, it's a Mantis-Class military assault droid."

"Wait, why Mantis?"

"Well, you see those legs?" Wash waved towards them. "They kinda resemble the legs of a praying mantis."

"No they don't."

"Then maybe it's the head shape?"

"Yeah, maybe it's because during the act of procreation, they rip off the head of their mate's body and devour it," Caboose put in. "It's like an act of sexual cannibalism."

"Ewww, what?!" Wash cried in disgust.

"Eh, I've dated worse," Tucker said with a dismissive shrug.

"Yeah, I call him Freckles because of the spots on his nose." Caboose pointed to the front of the robot which had four small red trianges spread out across it.

"Well shit, I actually have to give it to Caboose on this one," Tucker cried. "Robot definitely looks more like a 'Freckles' than a 'Mantis'."

"Fine," Wash sighed. "Where did you find… Freckles?"

Caboose thought it over. "Well, I was walking and I was sad and I missed Church-"

"This is the greatest story of our generation," Tucker muttered.

"Quiet," Wash hissed.

"And then I heard a noise-"

"Seriously, it's like I was there."

"Tucker!" Wash scolded.

"Yeah, and then I saw this little guy under pieces of rock and spaceship and body parts, but I just moved them out of the way and then there he was." Caboose patted the robot's leg and beamed up at it. "And now we're best friends forever, right Freckles?"

"AFFIRMATIVE, CABOOSE," Freckles replied.

"Great," Tucker groaned. "Boy meets dog, dog turns out to be a military-grade killing machine from a crashed spaceship."

Wash frowned and turned to the blue Spartan. "Caboose… um, you know, a pet is a lot of responsibility."

"That is why I will water him and feed him every day," Caboose replied.

"Water and feed?' Tucker cried. "What the hell does this thing run on?"

"It runs on the power of our friendship and our love!"

Tucker slapped his hand over his visor. "This is so fucked-up!"

"Didn't you give birth to a baby alien a few years back?" Wash recalled.

"Whoa, let's not bring family into this," Tucker snapped.

Caboose raised his hand up and Freckles bent down so he could pet its metallic nose. "So, what fun adventures are we going to go on today, Freckles?"

"Ha, I'm not doing shit!" Tucker yelled. "We're getting rescued soon, remember?"

"Actually," Wash argued, "I think it would be smart if we continued with our training routine."

"What?!" Tucker gasped. "Why? There's no point."

"Training is an ongoing process, Tucker, and as the leader of this team, I want to make sure that we're ready for anything."

"This is fucking stupid. Nothing has happened since we crashed here."

"Well, you never know if someone…" Wash glanced over at Freckles. "…or some_thing_ will attack. So stop complaining and start jogging." He then turned and set off up the ramp.

"And where are you going?" Tucker called out.

"I'm heading up to the ship," Wash replied. "Someone needs to do an inventory of our food supplies. I prefer it be someone who can count."

"I only screwed up twice," Caboose protested.

"You screwed up _once_."

"Yeah, I don't see your point."

Tucker looked at Caboose and Freckles nervously. "So, you're just gonna leave me with them?"

"Five laps, gentlemen," Wash called out, running out of the base. "Tucker, make sure you count for Caboose."

Tucker watched him leave then he snorted. "Yeah, right."

At once, Freckles turned and raised its gun turret towards him. "DISREGARDING A DIRECT ORDER FROM A COMMANDING OFFICER IS PUNISHABLE BY DEATH."

"What?" Tucker gasped. "Since when?"

"TARGET LOCKED."

"God dammit," Tucker sighed, running out of the base. "Okay, I'm going."

Caboose then smiled broadly at the robot. "And who wants to go outside? Who wants to go outside?" He jumped up and grabbed onto its leg. "Freckles, do you want to go outside? Outside! Who wants to go outside? Do I want to go outside? Why do I want to go outside? Let's all go outside!"

While he was rambling, Freckles marched outside the building. Caboose looked round for a moment then he dropped down to the ground. "Oh my God, we're here! I'm really good at this game!"

At that moment, on a small hill, Sarge watched through the scope of his sniper rifle as Caboose ran off after Tucker and Freckles marched along behind him. "Hmmm, those back-stabbers…"

Meanwhile at the Red Base, Grif was lying on a large boulder, resting his head on his helmet and finishing off his third packet of Oreos, when Simmons came running up to him, carrying his battle rifle. "Hey, asshole, would it kill you to take out the trash for once?"

Grif sat up, picking up his own rifle as he did, and turned to his team-mate. "Simmons, I've been thinking."

"I don't care!" Simmons snapped. "Take out the fucking trash!"

"Why do we carry our guns?"

"What?" Simmons was taken aback.

"Our guns. Why do we carry them?"

"Because we're soldiers."

"Yeah, but we're not really fighting anybody, are we?"

"Well, yeah but, you never know when we can be attacked!"

"Attacked by who? The Blues?"

"Um…"

Grif put away his rifle and folded his arms. "We haven't fought a single Goddamn enemy since arriving in this canyon, and yet here we are walking around in full body armor with a rifle in our hands like the fucking galaxy is about to attack any second?"

Simmons raised an eyebrow. "What's your point?"

"My point is, why don't we ever just walk around without our guns?" Grif gave his team-mate an expectant look. "Do it!"

"What?"

"Drop your gun!"

Simmons pulled his gun close to his chest. "No!"

"Why not?"

"I don't want to!"

"You don't want to?" Grif stepped closer until his nose was almost touching Simmons' visor. "Or you can't?"

"Um…" Simmons took a step back. "Um… I'm going back inside." With that, he turned and ran off back to base.

Grif watched him go then chuckled to himself. "And thus Dexter Grif single-handedly avoids trash duty for a second day in a row." He grabbed an Oreo and flicked it into the air, catching it in his mouth. "Hoo-rah!"

"Men, fall in, double time!" Sarge suddenly bellowed. "This is not a drill!"

Grif almost choked on his food in shock. "What the hell?"

"I knew there was a reason why we were armed!" Simmons yelled, running back out the base again.

With a sigh, Grif put his helmet back on, grabbed his gun and ran off after his team-mate.

They found their leader waiting for them next to their Warthog. "Sarge, what's wrong?" Simmons asked.

"What's wrong?" Sarge asked. "What's wrong?! How 'bout scheming, training, conniving, commiseratin', colluding, take your pick! Also, buildin' a giant robot. Those Blues are up to no good."

"And here I was thinking something important was about to happen," Grif sighed.

"But sir, didn't we build a robot?" Simmons asked.

At that moment, Lopez 2.0 poked his head out from the base. "Ustedes hablan de mí?" (You guys talking about me?)

"Lopez 2.0 doesn't count," Sarge argued. "He's about as useful as a box full of Grifs."

"Hey, I'm offended!" Grif yelled.

Lopez 2.0 sighed and bowed his head. "Oh… Bien." (Oh… Okay.)

Sarge stared at his privates with a grim look on his face. "Men, I know we have considered the Blues to be our quote 'allies' unquote for some time now, but we have to look at the facts."

"What facts?" Simmons asked.

"Number one: they now possess a tank on legs that's capable of killing us all."

"Okay…"

"And number two is that we didn't have our own Number One first!" Sarge's eyes narrowed as he turned towards the Blue Base. "Clearly this is a conspiracy."

"So, what do you want us to do about it?" Grif asked.

Sarge turned back to his team. "I need you boys to conduct some reconnaissance. Secure intel., get deep in Charlie's bush, initiate Delta Force, Tango and Cash!"

Grif scratched the top of his helmet in confusion. "Are these orders or 80's action movies?"

"Find out exactly what those pesky Blues are up to."

Simmons gulped. "You mean go out there? Near that monster?"

"See? This is exactly the robot overlord shit I was talking about!" Grif threw his arms up and yelled into the heavens, "If only someone had listened!"

"It will be dangerous," Sarge admitted. "But I have confidence that at least one of you will survive… Simmons."

"Why aren't you coming?" Grif asked.

"We have a major breach in security!" Sarge replied. "One of the bags in my wall tore open and now there's sand all over the place."

"I can see how that might take priority," Grif muttered.

Sarge sighed and shook his head. "It is likely that we will never recover; there are just so many tiny crevices."

"Sarge, please," Simmons begged. "I don't wanna upset the Mantis!"

"What's a Mantis?" Grif asked puzzled.

"The giant robot!"

"Ah… Why is it called that?"

"I don't know, 'cause it's green? That's not the point!"

Sarge frowned. "Well, that's not a very good reason to call it a Mantis."

"Tal vez lo llaman Mantis ya que tiene un sistema de camuflaje avanzado que utiliza para atrapar enemigos," Lopez 2.0 put in. (Perhaps they call it Mantis because it has an advanced camouflage system that it uses to ensnare enemies)

"Whatever, dum-dum," Sarge called out. "Can't you see we're talkin' strategy?"

"Stupid new Lopez," Grif added.

Simmons sighed and turned to Sarge. "Look, the Blues are no more dangerous than this idiot."

"Oye!" Lopez 2.0 shouted. "Vamos, chicos. Ya basta." (Hey! Come on, guys. Cut it out.)

"But that robot could flatten us in an instant."

Sarge mulled it over. "You raise an excellent point, Simmons."

Simmons raised his eyebrows. "I do?"

"Yep," Sarge replied. "So you better not get spotted while you're out there."

Grif just sighed and set off into the canyon. "Let's just get this over with."

"But I'm telling you," Simmons yelled, running off after his team-mate. "The Blues are not up to anything!"

At that moment, on board the shipwreck, Wash made his way down the passageway, walking right past a corridor marked with a sign reading FOOD REFRIGERATION/STORAGE. "Alright," he muttered to himself. "Change of plans…"

* * *

**Ooh, extra-mysterious. What is our former Freelancer friend up to?**


	9. The Grass is Greener The Blues are Bluer

**On we go with the Reds' reconnaissance.**

* * *

Chapter 8: The Grass is Greener, The Blues are Bluer

At the Blue Base, Tucker and Caboose were continuing their rigorous exercise while they waited for Washington to return.

Caboose did a few squats then turned to his robotic pet who was swinging its head back and forth. "No, Freckles," he scolded. "Freckles, go down. Like this." He did another squat then Freckles bent its knees a bit then straightened up again. "Yes, that's a good Freckles!" Caboose turned to his teal teammate. "Tucker, did you see that? Freckles did a squat!"

"Great," Tucker grunted between his squats. "Now teach him to fetch, or throw a stick off a cliff."

"Oh, he knows how to fetch." Caboose took out a tennis ball from his belt pocket and waved it in front of the Mantis. "Freckles! Freckles, get the ball!"

As he threw the ball out into the canyon, Freckles looked around and raised its gun turret. "ACQUIRING TARGET." With that, the robot opened fire, taking out the ball moments before it hit the ground.

Tucker paused mid-squat and stared at the robot in stunned silence.

"Um, yeah," Caboose muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "That was… that was just poor phrasing on my part, really… I mean, that was just… I think that was just grammatically… it was grammatically incorrect…"

Nearby, Grif and Simmons slowly crept up to a large boulder and peeked out to observe the Blues.

"Alright, we made it," Grif hissed.

"Yeah," Simmons agreed. "So uh, what do we do now?"

"I guess we just… watch 'em," Grif replied with a shrug.

So they did. For several tense seconds, they watched as Tucker and Caboose did squats while Freckles observed them.

After a while, Grif gave a sigh then started clicking his tongue.

Simmons shook his head. "So… this is a waste of time, right? I mean, they're not actually plotting anything."

"I don't know, man," Grif muttered. "But watching two dudes exercise is making me feel really weird."

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Simmons sighed.

"Well, why don't you just ask them what they're up to?"

"What? And blow our cover?"

"What do we look like, SEAL Team 6? Who gives a shit, dude? You already said they're not up to anything."

"But what about the robot?" Simmons reminded him.

Grif glanced at Freckles and gulped. "Oh, yeah."

Simmons lowered his rifle and turned to Grif. "See, we need to strategise."

"Okay, fine," Grif conceded. "How do you want to do this?"

Simmons rubbed his chin as he tried to think. "Oh! We could do sort of like a good cop/bad cop thing."

"What if we act casual, like we're just shooting at shit or something?"

"Maybe if we go in, guns blazing, we could intimidate them into telling us what we want."

"Wait…" Grif frowned. "What do we want?"

Simmons grimaced and scratched his helmet in thought. "I don't know."

"Hey! What are you doing?" Tucker's voice rang out.

Simmons and Grif jumped to their feet in alarm then turned to find Tucker standing next to the rock, hands on his side.

Quickly, Simmons thrust his hand onto Grif's chest-plate. "Alright Tucker, I want to hear you out but my partner's crazy! I can't hold him back!"

Tucker swapped a puzzled look with Grif who simply shrugged. "What?"

Simmons gave an awkward cough and leaned against the rock. "I mean, hey what's up, how's the weather? No, I mean…" He fumbled for his rifle and pointed it out at Tucker, unaware that he was holding it the wrong way. "Tell us what you know!"

Tucker sighed and moved Simmons' gun until it was facing the right way, making the maroon Spartan sigh. "I'm sorry."

"That was solid detective work, Officer Simmons," Grif muttered sarcastically.

"Yeeeaaahh…" Tucker rolled his eyes in agreement. "So, if you guys could just not watch us work out, that'd be great. It's a little weird."

"It's really weird," Grif agreed.

"Sarge ordered us to come spy on you," Simmons explained, putting his rifle away. "He thinks you're up to something."

"Dude, the only thing I've done today is exercise," Tucker groaned.

Grif sighed and shook his head in dismay. "You poor tortured soul."

"What are you training for?" Simmons asked puzzled.

"Fuck if I know!" Tucker cried. "Every day it's the same thing: Wake up, run drills, clean the base, run drills, maintain order, run drills…" He turned towards the wreck and yelled out angrily, "I have glamorous calves and a miserable fucking life! Can we please stop running drills?"

"I had calves once," Grif sighed wistfully. "Way more tender than regular cows. You can taste the youth."

But Simmons didn't hear him. "Wash makes you clean the base?" he breathed, his eyes agleam.

"And our equipment, and our vehicles," Tucker replied. "The guy's obsessed with rules and order!"

"Urgh,"Grif grimaced. "Can you imagine having to deal with someone like that?"

"Rules and order…" Simmons began to drool at the thought.

"I know, right?" Tucker groaned. "He's even got an organizational chart."

Simmons let out a gasp, at this but Grif just scoffed. "What a loser."

"Um…" Simmons gave a loud cough. "Yeah… Well uh, that all sounds very interesting, Tucker, but I think I need to see this for myself."

"What?" Tucker cried.

"What?" Grif echoed.

"Uh, you know, I just want to make sure his story checks out," Simmons replied nonchalantly. "Inspect the base, stick around for a few days…"

"Checks out?" Grif yelled, turning to look at Blue Base. "What are you gonna find that you can't already see? That thing is completely exposed, it's empty! It's clean, dude!"

Simmons just gave a blissful sigh. "Clean…"

Tucker raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you wanna stick around? Wash might make you run his obstacle course or something."

"Yeah, Sarge made us do that too," Grif groaned.

_Earlier…_

As Grif waited by the starting line, Sarge raised his pistol into the air. "On your mark… Get set…"

Grif shook his head. "This is such bullsh- OWWW!" he suddenly yelped as Sarge shot him with his trusty shotgun. "Why?"

Sarge just chuckled and stopped his watch. "New record."

_Now…_

Grif rubbed his butt with a sigh. "Sometimes when I sneeze, buckshot comes out. I have to take off my helmet so I don't shatter the visor."

"Look, let me just hang out for a few days," Simmons insisted. "I'll be cool, I swear."

Grif narrowed his eyes at his teammate. "Don't lie into his face."

"Whatever, dude," Tucker conceded, heading back to Caboose and Freckles. "Just remember, I warned you."

Simmons watched him go then turned to his teammate. "Well, Grif, I guess this is goodbye."

"Wait," Grif cut in, scratching his helmet in confusion. "How long are you planning on being gone?"

"Til the job's done, I guess."

"And you're sure you'd rather be with the Blues and their giant killer fucking robot instead of just coming back to base?"

Simmons just gave him a knowing look.

_Much earlier…_

Grif came up to Simmons, looking rather embarrassed. "Hey, I think I broke the urinal in the laundry room."

Simmons frowned. "We don't have a urinal in the laundry room."

Grif glanced over his shoulder and gulped. "Oh…" To his credit, he made halfway across the canyon before Simmons ran after him, guns blazing.

_Now…_

"Yes, I'm sure," Simmons replied.

"Whatever, your funeral." Grif started back towards his base but then he stopped and turned around. "Just remember, if the robot ever corners you, just stick him with a magnet."

"Computers haven't been affected by magnets since the 20th century," Simmons argued.

"Which is exactly what they want you to think." With that, Grif turned and set off back across the canyon.

Simmons then stepped out from behind the rock, removed his helmet and took a deep breath before letting it out in a huge sigh as he stared at the Blue Base. "Finally, a place I can call home…"

At that very moment, Caboose took out another tennis ball and held it up to his robot. "Alright, Freckles, fetch!" And he hurled the ball with all his strength.

Simmons quickly stepped aside as the ball fell out of the sky, landing right at his feet. "Hey Caboose, you dropped your ball!"

Then Freckles raised its turret again. "ACQUIRING TARGET." With that, the robot opened fire again, nearly taking Simmons' leg off as he dived out of the way.

"AHHH!" he yelped. "WHAT DID I DO?!"

"Oh yeah, sorry," Caboose called out. "We're still working on that one."

* * *

**Well, you stuck with them now, Simmons. No take-backs.**

**Also, is anyone getting a sense of déjà vu? **


	10. A House Divided, Then Multiplied

**A familiar feeling will soon hit in this episode.**

* * *

Chapter 9: A House Divided, Then Multiplied

After a long walk across the canyon, Grif reached the Red Base and spotted Lopez 2.0 hanging around under the slipspace engine. "Hey, where's Sarge?"

"¿Por qué mí a pregunta?" Lopez inquired puzzled. "Usted no habla Español." (Why are you asking me? You don't speak Spanish.)

At that moment, Sarge came out of the garage where they'd parked their Warthog, which now had red stripes spray-painted on its sides and bore a large slogan on its bonnet, RED GLORY.

"Private Grif," Sarge called out. "I see you've returned from your reconnaissance mission unscathed. That's disappointing, unacceptable."

Lopez 2.0 shook his head in confusion. "Hombre… ¿Lo que es carne de esta tipo con usted?" (Man… What's this guy's beef with you?)

Sarge took off his helmet and ran a hand through his military crew-cut. "So, what information have you recovered?"

"Uh, besides the fact that the Blues aren't up to anything and that you're a paranoid old man bordering on senility?" Grif shrugged. "Not much, really."

"Uh-huh," Sarge muttered. "I'll take that into consideration, Private. Now how about we hear from our more competent soldier?" He looked around for a moment then frowned. "Simmons?"

"He's with the Blues," Grif replied.

Sarge turned to him, his face stunned. "What? The Blues?"

"Yeah." Grif nodded, glancing over his shoulder. "He seemed really eager to stay at their base for some reason."

Sarge sighed then he bowed his head and turned towards the base. "Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time."

Grif looked puzzled. "Matter of time?"

Sarge nodded. "I knew this day would come."

"Really? You knew Simmons would eventually leave the Red Team?"

"Leave the Red Team?" Sarge turned back to stare at him, his normally squinted eyes now widened and unblinking. "Grif, are you even paying attention?"

"Uh, not really. I-"

"Think about it." Sarge turned towards the other side of the canyon. "First they build a giant robot. Then they capture my second-in-command. It's just as I had predicted! The enemy has finally shown its true colors, and that color is #0000FF!"

Grif swapped a puzzled look with Lopez 2.0. "What?"

"BLUE! BLUE! It's Red vs. Blue all over again!"

"No, Sarge," Grif cried. "They didn't capture-"

"Can you believe it?" Sarge yelled. "Posing as our allies, only to stab us in the back years after our conflict had seemingly ended! They've pulled off the most elaborate ruse in the history of simulated military combat!"

"I don't-"

"I mean, really! How far back did they start planning this thing?"

"You're not listening!"

"Like, did they know about the Freelancers from the beginning?"

"Sarge!"

"And what about Church?" Sarge was practically tearing his hair out at this point. "For years, they told us he was a ghost, but then he was an ancient artifact or something, and then there were aliens involved, I_ don't know!_ Sometimes, I wonder just how deep this rabbit hole goes!"

"Stop!"

Sarge then turned to look into space, as if aware that someone was watching him right now. "It's almost like all this is some sort of sick game!"

**(Fourth wall breaking alert!)**

Grif scratched the top of his helmet in bemusement. "This conversation is starting to get a little meta."

"You're right," Sarge replied, returning to near-sanity. "Think he was in on it too?"

"I think you're jumping to conclusions," Grif said.

"I conclude you need to shut your mouth and move your feet!" Sarge bellowed, snatching up his helmet and his shotgun.

"What are you gonna do?" Grif asked, watching as Sarge ran back towards the garage.

Sarge turned round and smiled grimly before replacing his helmet. "We are goin' to do… the Reds' signature Blood Gulch maneuver!"

"Oh no," Grif groaned, slapping his hand over his visor.

Lopez 2.0 turned to Grif with a smug grin. "Me hace feliz saber que está ignorados tanto como estoy por aquí." (It makes me happy knowing you're ignored just as much as I am around here.)

Meanwhile at the Blue Base, Caboose had taken a break from his workout to teach his pet Mantis some more tricks. "Freckles, roll over!"

In response, Freckles rotated its upper body a full 360 degrees. "OBJECTIVE COMPLETE."

"That's cheating," Tucker scowled.

At that moment, Simmons ran up to the edge of the roof. "Hey, Tucker!"

"What?" Tucker yelled back.

"Do you have any idea when Wash is getting back?" Simmons called. "I have some suggestions regarding the upkeep of Blue Base."

"I don't know, and I don't care!"

"Well, I've got two words for you, buddy: chore wheel."

"And I got two words for you! How about fuck off!"

"Juuuust think about it!" Simmons shouted, retreating back into the base. "Wheel of chores."

Tucker groaned and shook his head in dismay. "I hate my life."

At that moment, Washington's voice rang out from the shipwreck. "TUCKER!"

Tucker cringed at the tone of that shout. "You know what, I take it back. I hate everyone else's life, wish I didn't have them." He then grimaced in concern. "Oh God, am I turning into Church?"

Just then, Wash came running up to him, helmet under his arm and an angry look on his face. "Why aren't you running drills?"

Tucker turned to him, his eyes narrowed. "How do you know I didn't already finished them?"

"'Cause you're not on the ground, complaining about your irritated nipples."

"I'm telling you, my chest-piece rubs right up against it and not in the good way."

Wash grabbed Tucker by the chest-piece and pulled him up to his face. "Why do you refuse to take these things seriously?"

"Why can't _you_ let us keep doing our thing?" Tucker retorted, pushing himself out of Wash's grip.

"I'm trying to make sure you're the best, that you're ready for anything!"

"Why?" Tucker pulled off his helmet and glared at Wash. "Blue Team was fine with being mediocre until you came along. What the fuck are you worried about?"

"It's just a feeling." Wash glanced over his shoulder. "I can't explain it."

"Really? 'Cause I bet I can. You're a paranoid, ex-special ops guy who's used to being betrayed on a weekly basis. Not much of a riddle, Wash." Tucker then gave a cheeky grin. "Hey! Next, you wanna know the mystery of why Caboose isn't the Team treasurer?"

Wash turned back round and narrowed his eyes. "Oh, so we're going there?"

"Oh, bitch, I already went there," Tucker countered. "And I took pictures!"

"Ooooohhhh, burn!" Caboose winced.

Wash folded his arms and stepped closer. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised, Lavernius! You always have to get the last laugh! Mister Quick-witted, Mister Sarcastic… If you do as much training as you do mouthing off, you could probably bet Freckles at arm-wrestling!"

"Don't be stupid!" Tucker snapped. "Freckles doesn't have arms, he has guns!"

"And paws!" Caboose cut in. "Freckles, shake!"

At this, the Mantis raised one foot and stomped into the ground, causing a small tremor.

"Get it? He shakes!" Caboose cried. "It's so awesome!"

"Caboose!" Tucker and Wash yelled at the same time.

"Uh, yeah, we're still working on it," Caboose muttered.

At that moment, Simmons came running out of the base. "Oh, hey Wash, I didn't know you were back!"

Wash cast a look at him then turned back to Tucker. "What is… Why is _he_ here?"

"I took the liberty of claiming the bunk closest to you," Simmons continued. "I hope you don't mind. Hey, Caboose, are you okay with sleeping on the floor?"

"I don't have time to deal with you right now," Wash growled. "Go away."

"Ha! Good one, Sir," Simmons chuckled. "Hey, by the way, is it okay if I start calling you Sir?"

Wash sighed and frowned at Tucker. "Why is he still here?"

"Beats me," Tucker admitted. "If I was him, I'd be as far away from this base as possible."

"You can call me champ if you want," Simmons added. "Or, you know… son."

"Just ignore him."

"Or Sir Junior."

"Look," Wash cut in. "As long as I'm leader of this Team, I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety whether you like it or not."

"We don't need you protecting us," Tucker yelled.

"I know!" Wash bellowed. "That's why I'm trying to help you!"

"Help us with what? Defending against attack? No one is going to attack us!"

"ATTAAAAAACCK!" Suddenly, the Warthog dubbed Red Glory came barreling over the ramp in the middle of the canyon and crashed right into the boulder in front of the base.

Tucker groaned and did a visor-palm. "Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me."

Behind Red Glory's turret, Sarge glowered at his teammate. "Damn it, Grif. You forgot our theme music."

"Oh, right." Behind the wheel, Grif switched on the radio and loud ranchero music blared out of the jeep's speakers.

"Oh, forget it," Sarge groaned. "Give it a pass."

As Grif switched the radio off again, Freckles reared up and pointed its gun turret at the Reds. "ENEMY SOLDIERS DETECTED."

Caboose gulped nervously. "Uh… good Freckles? No murdering everyone?"

Sarge turned the turret towards the Blues, while Wash and Tucker raised their battle rifles and pointed them at the Reds.

Grif glanced between them, suddenly feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. "Uh, I would just like to take this opportunity to point out… that this was not my idea whatsoever, at all."

As the two teams waited for the other to make the first move, none of them noticed a mysterious figure hidden in the shade of some trees on the edge of the canyon, spying on the activities through the scope of a sniper rifle…

* * *

**Oh boy, this is going to be a real eye-opener!**


	11. Long Live the King

**Get ready, for this battle is about to take a few dramatic turns, for better or worse I know not.**

* * *

Chapter 10: Long Live the King

Keeping a firm grip on his rifle, Tucker glared angrily at the Reds. "You have literally the worst timing."

"Stow it, thin mint!" Sarge snapped, jumping off Red Glory's turret. "We're no longer fraternizing with the enemy."

Tucker frowned. "'Thin mint'?"

"Now see, when he says 'we', imagine he's only referring to himself," Grif advised. "Do not group us together."

"Bitch, my armor's aqua!" Tucker yelled. "I think."

**(Actually, I think it's teal.)**

Washington took a step closer, still holding his rifle. "What the hell are you two doing?"

"Uh, again, not 'two', just him," Grif repeated. "I can't stress this enough."

Sarge raised his shotgun and pointed it at Wash's face. "You made me believe that Reds and Blues can coexist, and we can work together as one people, and that we can all get together and be a little… _purple_."

"We can! We are!" Wash yelled, pushing the gun away. "Seriously, what the fuck is this about?"

"You kidnapped one of my men!" Sarge shouted.

"Who, me?" Simmons cried out.

"He wasn't kidnapped, dipshit," Tucker retorted. "He came over here by himself! We can't get him to leave."

Sarge lowered his gun and turned to his pet private. "Is this true, Simmons?"

"It's not your fault, Sir," Simmons explained. "It's Grif's."

Grif was stunned. "What did I do?"

"You're fucking disgusting, Grif!"

"Well, yeah. But I've always been like that. Sarge was the one that decided to take half the base for himself."

"Oh…" Simmons turned back to Sarge. "Then I guess this is your fault, Sir."

Sarge raised his gun again, this time pointing it at Simmons. "Then that makes you a traitor!"

"What?" Simmons gasped.

Quickly Freckles raised its gun turret. "THREAT LEVEL INCREASED."

"Uh, yeah, no reason for panic," Caboose gulped nervously. "Everything's fine. Might anyone have a rolled-up newspaper at the ready?"

Sarge ignored him. "You weren't kidnapped!" he growled at Simmons. "You deliberately joined the enemy!"

"But if he wasn't kidnapped, that would mean we were never the enemy in the first place!" Tucker pointed out.

"Don't try to confuse me with your words, shamrock!" Sarge snapped.

"I'm aqua!"

**(No, you're teal!)**

"Tucker, calm down," Wash ordered.

"Me?" Tucker cried. "These guys roll up in a fucking assault jeep, and you choose to yell at me?"

"Look, tensions are high-"

"No shit, Washington." Tucker turned and glowered at his leader. "I'm tired of you bossing us around."

"Now is not the time."

"You know, I disagree. We were having a talk when Tweedledee and Tweedle-fucking-idiot decided to interrupt, so let's finish this."

"There is nothing to finish!"

Grif scratched his helmet in confusion. "Are we interrupting some sort of lovers' quarrel right now?"

Tucker ignored him as he stepped closer to Wash, his visor reflecting the ex-Freelancer's face. "You are the worst thing to happen to this team since Blue-boy over there decided to show up."

"I am a man!" Caboose cut in. "Blue man!"

"You take that back!" Simmons yelled, pointing accusingly at Tucker. "Wash is a great leader… I assume."

"Blasphemy!" Sarge bellowed.

Freckles raised its missile turret. "DEADLY THREAT AUTHORIZED."

"Seriously," Tucker scowled. "I would rather follow Caboose into battle than you."

"Oh, really?" Wash sneered sarcastically. "Then let's just make him the leader, see how much better off you are!"

Caboose perked up at this. "Well, I humbly accept your nomination and accept the position."

"Shut up!" Wash and Tucker yelled.

Suddenly, Freckles turned to the other Blues. "DO NOT TALK BACK TO YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER."

"Wash and I are having an argument," Tucker replied crossly. "I will be talking back to him. That's how arguments work, you fucking toaster."

But Freckles shook its giant head. "WASHINGTON IS NOT THE COMMANDING OFFICER."

"What?" Tucker gasped.

"What?!" Wash yelled.

"IN A UNANIMOUS DECISION BY THE BLUE TEAM, CABOOSE HAS BEEN PROMOTED TO BLUE LEADER," Freckles explained. "CAPTAIN CABOOSE IS NOW YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER. DO NOT TALK BACK TO YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER."

Grif swallowed hard. "Oh, fuck."

"Well, yep," Caboose beamed, puffing out his chest with pride. "This is gonna be a lot of fun."

"No, Caboose, you can't!" Wash ran towards Caboose, but was stopped by the Mantis pointing its turrets at him. "Look, Freckles, this is a misunderstanding!"

Simmons stared at the Blues in horror. "Caboose is team leader? Fuck this."

"Oh, don't worry, Simmons," Caboose reassured. "As my first duty as leader in the position of the nomination, I say you can be on Blue Team… forever!"

"No thanks, I'm good," Simmons insisted, stepping towards the Reds' Warthog.

But then Freckles fired its gun turret at his feet, making him stop. "PRIVATE SIMMONS."

"Oh no," Simmons whimpered.

"DESERTING YOUR POST WILL DESIGNATE YOU AS AWOL. THIS DESIGNATION IS PUNISHABLE BY DEATH."

"WHAT?!" Simmons screamed.

"Uh, hey, Sarge," Grif called out. "_Now_ the Blues have kidnapped Simmons."

"Then it's war!" Sarge leapt behind the turret and turned it towards Freckles.

"Wait! Stop!" Wash cried out.

But Sarge was already powering up the gun, at the same time that Freckles was powering up its missile launcher. "Say hello to Robot Satan, you mechanical son of a-"

"BAIL!" Grif yelped, diving out of the driver's seat just as Freckles fired a missile at Red Glory.

KABOOOOOMMM! The jeep exploded in a massive ball of flame, throwing Sarge out onto the grass.

"Whoa!" Tucker gasped.

"Sarge!" Simmons screamed, running over to his leader.

"Freckles, bad!" Caboose scolded. "Bad! No!"

"PRIMARY THREAT ELIMINATED," Freckles declared.

Just then, Lopez 2.0 came running toward them. "¿Cuál es esa explosio- Mierda!" he gasped when he saw the burning wreck of Red Glory. "¿Qué has hecho?" (What was that explos- HOLY SHIT! WHAT DID YOU DO?)"

Simmons knelt by his leader and helped him to his feet. "Sarge, are you okay?"

"No, Simmons," Sarge grunted, clutching the wounds on his side. "I'm afraid I won't be okay… until I exact my revenge!"

"Seriously, I am not affiliated with this lunatic," Grif called out from behind a boulder. "He does not speak for me."

Despite his injuries, Sarge picked up his shotgun and charged towards Freckles with a fierce battle cry. "HYAAAAAH!"

Again, Freckles raised its turrets. "ENGAGING TARGET."

"Freckles, no!" Caboose shouted.

"Sarge, don't!" Wash yelled, running towards the Red leader in attempt to stop him.

Suddenly, a loud shot rang out across the canyon, making everyone stop in their tracks, including Freckles amazingly. Puzzled, the Reds and Blues looked at each other to find who had fired their weapon, but nobody responded. Then as one, they slowly turned towards the middle of the canyon… and there on the edge of the ramp, holding a pistol high in the air, was a Spartan-II wearing bright pink armor and a big grin on his face. "Man, you guys are really noisy."

For several seconds, no one dared to speak. Then Grif ran out of his hiding place with a great cheer. "It's Donut! We're saved!"

With shouts of joy and ecstasy, the Reds, Wash and Tucker ran over to the pink private and grabbed in a big group hug.

"Aw, you must have really missed me!" Donut chuckled.

"Donut, thank God you're here!" Grif cried.

"We were just about ready to kill each other," Sarge added.

"Speak for yourself," Tucker scoffed.

Wash quickly recovered and looked around. "Where's the ship?"

Donut looked confused. "What ship?"

"The ship you came here on. The rescue team."

"Ohhh, yeah, duh!" Donut cleared his throat. "Allow me to introduce: the rescue team!"

He took a step aside to reveal a second Spartan, this one wearing purple armor with a red cross on a white sticker on his chest, and waving nervously. "'Sup?"

"Doc?!" Simmons cried.

"Wait," Wash muttered. "What is this?"

"Donut told me you guys needed help," Doc explained.

"So I got the best help money could buy!" Donut finished proudly.

"You didn't pay me."

"And I didn't tip the pilot! That's formality."

"What pilot?" Sarge asked.

"The pilot that dropped us off, dummy."

"'Dropped you off'?" Tucker cried.

"As in, he's not here anymore?" Grif added.

"Exactly," Donut replied.

At that moment, Caboose ran up to the group. "'Sup?"

Wash sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you're telling me… that you heard the distress signal… grabbed Doc… _hopped on a ship… and then TOLD THE SHIP TO LEAVE? AND __**THAT'S YOUR IDEA OF SENDING HELP?!**_"

"What? No!" Donut cried, while behind, Doc slowly began to back away. "I brought Lopez, too!"

With that, he reached behind his back and then brandished a brown Mark VI helmet with broken wires hanging out the bottom. Lopez 2.0 went to look at the helmet and was stunned to see glowing green eyes staring back at him. "Qué… Carajo." (What… the fuck.)

Silently, the Reds and Blues all turned to look at each other, processing the information that Donut had told them. Then Sarge spoke the words that everybody, even Caboose, was thinking. "KILL HIM!"

Doc turned to flee the scene but was quickly tackled by the Reds. The Blues meanwhile grabbed Donut and started dragging him towards the boulder.

"Someone get this maniac turquoise guy away from me!" Donut yelped.

"I'M AQUA!" Tucker screamed.

**(No, YOU'RE TEAL!)**

At that moment, on a cliff overlooking the Blue Base, the figure observed through the sniper scope as the Reds and Blues began to beat up Donut and Doc, Sarge using the original Lopez as a bludgeon. With a deep sigh, he stepped out of the shade of the tree, revealing his grey-and-green armor. "Unfortunate…"

He then pressed a button on his right gauntlet and disappeared into thin air.

* * *

**Wait a minute, this guy has a cloaking device? Seriously, who is this guy?**

**P.S. Is Tucker teal or aqua? I really do want to know now.**


	12. Worst Laid Plans

**I'm pleased to report that I was finally able to get the Spanish words for both Lopezes. Thanks a bunch, Rooster Tooths. (Whoops, my other secret's out.) **

**Anyway, let's see how our teams are coping with the unexpected changes from the last episode.**

* * *

Chapter 11: Worst Laid Plans

At the Blue Base, the atmosphere was tense as the Blues stood in the main hall, under the watch of the towering Freckles. For a while, they were silent then Tucker sighed and turned to Washington. "This is it. This is rock-bottom. You ever hit rock-bottom before, Wash?"

Wash didn't reply, his face still contorted into an angry sneer, but Tucker wasn't sure if that was because their supposed 'rescue team', Donut and Doc, had completely screwed them over or because his rank had been usurped by an unfortunate misunderstanding.

"Well, you have now, 'cause this is it," Tucker replied for him. "It can't get any lower."

Just then, he heard a loud sniff and Tucker turned to see Simmons next to him, his head bowed low and his cheeks streaked with Freon tears. "I wanna go home."

"Okay, well maybe I spoke too soon," Tucker muttered.

Just then, Freckles turned towards them. "ATTENTION. OFFICER ON DECK."

The Blues didn't react until Freckles raised its gun turret and then everyone quickly stood to attention, although Simmons still looked unhappy and Wash still had his sneer.

Then Caboose came over the ramp. "Yes. Yes. Oh thank you, yes, hello. You're welcome, yes, thank you."

He then turned to address the team and cleared his throat. "Hello!"

"CAPTAIN, ALL TEAM MEMBERS ARE ACCOUNTED FOR," Freckles informed him.

"Well, excellent news, Assistant Captain Freckles," Caboose replied.

"Oh, dear Lord," Tucker groaned, slapping his hand over his visor.

"Alright," Caboose called. "It looks like we have a new member today. Yes, give Simmons a big Blue Team hello, yes. Welcome to Blue Team, Simmons."

Caboose gave a round of applause, but Simmons wasn't reassured. "Can I leave?"

"It is good to have you on board today for the Blue Team," Caboose said, not really hearing Simmons.

"SIR, AWAITING MISSION BRIEFING," Freckles then said.

"Oh yes, right, yes right, I got it." Caboose coughed again. "Okay, um… Yes, the first order of business for the Blue Team is… um…" He frowned and scratched the top of his helmet. "Um…" A panicked look crossed his face then he turned to the former Freelancer. "Wash?" he hissed. "Psst, hey Wash. Washington? Wash!"

"Yes, Caboose?" Wash sighed, breaking his sulky silence.

"What is the first order of business?"

"We're trying to get rescued."

"Oh yes! Rescued, yes, excellent." Caboose then turned to the others. "Does anyone have any suggestions?"

Wash sighed again then raised his hand. "Well, we know the communications tower works, so we should continue in our efforts to make contact."

"Ah yes," Caboose replied. "Yes, excellent, yes."

"However, we should also try to boost the signal on the radio transmitter. We were barely able to keep a steady line of communication last time. Even if we make contact again, there's no guarantee that anyone would be able to understand us."

"Uh… Yes, um, right, yes…" Caboose cleared his throat and made himself look more superior, to little effect. "Yes, then we need to do that! Tucker, go fix the radio thing!"

"Me?" Tucker cried. "Why not Wash? He was the one that built it."

"Tucker, don't rook it," Caboose hissed through gritted teeth. "Okay listen, we're gonna keep Wash here for another job."

"Uh, but Caboose…" But before Wash could say any more, Freckles raised its gun turret at him and he stepped back with an angry growl.

"Yes," Caboose gulped. "I'm thinking that you know, uh Washington is mean and scary… Yes, he will be our lookout!"

Tucker swapped a puzzled look with Simmons. "Lookout?"

"Yes!" Caboose replied more confidently. "Wash, make sure you look out for Red guys… and anything that looks scary."

"There's a giant robot trying to kill me," Wash muttered.

"Yeah," Tucker agreed. "Why can Freckles be our lookout? Killing stuff is like his entire reason for existing."

"Well, um," Caboose replied. "Every great leader needs a great best friend, and Freckles, I think that you can be that best friend!"

Freckles turned to Caboose and nodded. "ACKNOWLEDGED."

Simmons frowned. "Um, do I need to do anything?"

"OH MY GOD, A RED!" Caboose screamed in terror. "OH MY- Oh no, sorry, sorry, that's my bad. Sorry, yeah, that's Simmons. Yes, sorry." He cleared his throat. "Um, Simmons, you do what you… uh, normally do for the Reds, but instead for the Blues."

"Uh… Yes, sir," Simmons replied.

"Wait," Tucker cut in. "What _is _your job for the Reds?"

"What do you mean?" Simmons asked. "I just did it."

"Okay, everyone! Annnndd… Team!" Caboose then turned and left the room. "Alright, see you, bye."

Wash threw a quick glare at Tucker then set off down the ramp. "I hope you're happy."

"Hey, don't pin this shit on me!" Tucker snapped, running off in the other direction.

"Uh, I'll just stay here, I guess," Simmons called out.

Meanwhile at the Red Base, Doc was finishing off his medical examination of Donut. The beating they'd received from the Reds and Blues had left them with some pretty bad injuries. Donut now had bruises on his whole body, a black eye and two cuts on his forehead, while Doc sported a big lump on his head and a sprained leg, although considering Sarge had used Lopez 1.0 as his weapon, he was lucky it didn't get broken. So after Doc had patched up Sarge's wounds, he'd set about on his own wounds before working on Donut.

Now Doc placed a plaster over the cut on Donut's forehead then gave him an icepack to hold over his shiner. "Alright, you're all patched up."

"I can't feel my toes," Donut groaned, carefully getting to his feet. "Is that normal?"

"Um, let's go with yes," Doc decided.

"Works for me," Donut agreed.

Doc then turned to glare at Grif, who'd been watching the procedure. "You know, the next time someone comes to help you, I wouldn't really recommend you beat the crap out of them."

"Well, the next time somebody comes to help us, I hope they actually bring us help," Grif countered.

"Hey! I take offense to that!"

"It's called an insult."

"Oh."

"So what the heck happened?" Donut demanded, holding the icepack over his shiner. "After you guys dropped me off at Valhalla, you guys were supposed to be going back to Blood Gulch."

"We did get back," Grif replied. "But then the UNSC caught up with us and we were nearly thrown in jail! But Wash was able to clear our names and they gave us a ship to head back home."

"So, how did you guys end up here?" Doc asked.

Grif gave a nervous grimace. "Well, funny story…"

_Flashback_

_On board the ship, Grif had finished his latest meal and left the control room, dusting Oreo crumbs off his armor, when suddenly the ship gave a violent judder, almost knocking him to the floor. Then he heard a loud bang behind him and he ran back into the room to find a soldier staring at a sparking control panel in horror._

"_Oh my God!" the soldier cried, picking up an empty drinks can. "Who spilled soda all over my instruments?"_

"_Oh my God!" Grif gasped in dismay. "I spilled my soda?"_

_At that moment, alarms blared across the ship and red lights flashed on._

_End flashback just like before_

Grif gulped nervously. "Somehow the ship crashed, but uh, no one seems to know how or why or when or-"

"Men!" Sarge called out, storming out of the base.

"I didn't do it!" Grif yelped in fright. "You can't prove that I did!"

"What are you doing up, Sarge?" Doc said. "You're supposed to be resting; those injuries you took were pretty bad."

"Ah corn-dogs, I don't have time for resting!" Sarge bellowed. "It's time we took action!"

"Oh, we're not gonna do anything violent, are we?" Doc groaned. "Remember, I'm a pacifist."

"Yeah, but think about it," Sarge replied. "You can't spell 'pacifist' without 'fist', which you need to throw a punch! That always leads to fighting, the precursor to a full-on battle, which is ultimately the first step on the inevitable road to war! Violence is unavoidable, Doc. Time to admit you've just got a natural-born pacifist lust for murder."

Doc groaned and did a visor-palm. "Why do I even bother?"

"Oh, come on, Doc!" Donut chuckled, slapping the medic on his shoulder. "Where's your sense of adventure? We're a bunch of strapping young men stranded in the wilderness. If that doesn't sound like a good time, I don't know what does!"

Grif narrowed his eyes. "I'm starting to remember why I don't like you."

"It's just like camping!" Donut cheered. "Who wants to help me pitch a tent?"

"Yep, there it is," Grif concluded.

"That's enough!" Sarge cried out. "Since landing in this godforsaken canyon, we've let Washington make all the decisions, and just look where that's gotten us. Our Warthog is destroyed, we're running low on food, and Simmons is being held prisoner!"

"Shit's pretty fucked," Grif agreed.

"It's high time we took matters into our own hands, Red hands!" Sarge decided, drawing out his shotgun. "The days of standing idly by while the Blues do interesting and convoluted things are over!"

"Alright!" Donut cheered, whipping out his battle rifle. "It's our time to shine! Can I get a 'heck yeah'?"

"Hell no."

"Close enough."

Sarge cast his eyes around his team. "What I'm about to propose to you gentlemen is in no way simple, smart or seemingly possible."

"Solid pep talk so far, Sarge," Grif replied sarcastically.

Sarge's face then became serious. "There's one thing in this canyon that's been the source of all our problems, so if we wanna get outta here alive, we're going to have to eliminate it! Boys… we've got to kill Freckles!"

Doc swapped a confused look with Donut. "Uh… we don't know who that is. We just got here."

"The robot," Sarge replied.

"You mean Lopez?" Donut asked.

At this, Lopez 2.0 looked up then turned to the head of his predecessor. "Creo que estan hablando de nosotros!" (I think they're talking about us!)

"A menos que estén hablando de mi construir no me importa," Lopez 1.0 grumbled. (Unless they are talking about building me a new body, I don't give a shit.)

"No, the giant robot that belongs to Caboose," Grif replied. "AKA, the thing that will fucking kill us if we get anywhere near it! So exactly how do you plan on eliminating it, Sarge?"

"Well," Sarge replied, rubbing his chin in thought. "If our ship was carrying something as big as Freckles, I figure it may have also been carrying something big enough to break him."

"We're going aboard the ship?" Grif asked.

"We'll move in tonight," Sarge decided. "Donut, you guard the base while we're gone."

"Awesome!" Donut cried.

Just then Wash came running up to them. "Hey," he called out. "You guys haven't seen… anything suspicious around, have you?"

"Suspicious?" Sarge muttered, flicking his eyes around shiftily. "Why, whatever do you mean, Agent Washington?"

Wash sighed and shook his head. "Nothing, just… doing my job." With that, he turned and set off back to his base.

Grif wiped his brow in mock relief. "Nice save, Sarge. Very convincing."

Sarge chuckled to himself. "Thank you."

* * *

Meanwhile, at a desert outpost many miles away, a large drop ship docked into the harbor and its pilot disembarked. He made his way down the deck, the sun gleaming off his silver armor, and approached the main counter. Seeing a figure inside the shadowed room, he rapped on the window. "Hey, can I get some fuel out quick?"

"You got it," the figure replied in a deep voice.

"Hey thanks." The pilot then pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked blonde hair then he turned back to the counter. "Hey uh, I'm not really from around here but uh, do you know about that crashed spaceship?"

The figure looked up at this. "Spaceship?"

"Yeah, I just dropped off a couple of guys who saw it in the middle of a canyon. It's big. Really big."

The figure shook his helmeted head. "No, I can't say I have."

"Really? Oh man…" The pilot turned towards his ship. "I mean, somebody should report that, right?"

"Well, that's up to you," the figure replied.

"Yeah, it was pretty bad," the pilot admitted. "You got a phone I could use?"

"Sure." The figure pointed over his shoulder. "Right over there."

The pilot turned and spotted a small booth standing some distance away. "Thanks."

He then set off towards the booth, but halfway there a shot rang out and he was suddenly thrown forward into the sand. With a gasp, he looked round and saw that his legs were bleeding quite badly. Desperately, he tried to crawl away but then he was rolled onto his back and pinned down… by a soldier in steel grey armor with sage green highlights, a shotgun in his hands and his face obscured by a visorless helmet.

"Just so you're aware," the soldier sneered in the same deep voice, pulling out a pistol. "No one's going to find your ship either."

With that, he fired a single shot and the pilot fell down dead. With a chuckle, the soldier put away his pistol then switched on the com-link in his helmet. "Control, this is Locus. Objective complete. Returning to Crash Site Bravo…"

* * *

**Whoa, I think I can honestly say that this Locus fellow is definitely not one of the good guys.**


	13. Finders Keepers

**A few surprising treats are in store in this episode.**

* * *

Chapter 12: Finders Keepers

As the sun began to set over the canyon, Tucker returned to the Blue Base, exhausted from his vain attempts to fix the comm tower, and made his way into the building where he found Simmons standing in the middle of the room. "This blows," the teal Spartan groaned. "I don't know the first thing about fixing intergalactic radios."

"Uh huh," Simmons muttered, not really listening.

"Every movie that I've ever seen with a repairman on it always glosses over the actual repairing part. It's just 'Hey baby, I'm here to lay some pipe' and then bam, two scoops of raisin!"

"Uh huh."

"Dammit woman! If you let the man do his job, then maybe we wouldn't be in this mess."

Simmons then turned round and nodded behind him. "Hey Tucker, what the fuck is this thing?"

Tucker looked up to see a large platform behind Simmons, glowing with strange energy. "It's a gravity lift. You step on it and it takes you upstairs."

"I know that," Simmons replied. "But what the fuck is it doing here?"

Tucker shrugged. "It's glowing and going vrvrvrvrvrvrvrvrvrvrvrvr."

Simmons frowned. "So let me get this straight. We're the survivors of a shipwreck, living off of the bare necessities, and in the middle of the room is this incredible feat of modern-day technology?"

"I don't know," Tucker admitted. "Wash found it on the ship and put it on the base. What's so weird about that?"

"It's like finding a car made of rocks, plastic and a bluetooth radio."

"Oh, we've got that too." Tucker pressed a button on his helmet and a soft jingle rang out. "Siri, play song dance theme."

"Did you mean bomb, Andy?" a soft female voice replied. "Calling bomb, Andy."

"Oh, piece of shit," Tucker groaned, switching it off again.

"How are you able to power all this? Simmons asked."

Tucker pointed to a long cable snaking out of the base. "We're hooked up to the ship."

"You mean you have a direct line to a limitless power supply?"

"Well, no," Tucker admitted. "We'll definitely run out of fuel eventually, just not any time soon. So who cares, take as much as you want."

Simmons smiled. "God bless the American way."

"What are ya gonna do?" Tucker asked puzzled.

"Just a side project!" And with that, Simmons ran onto the gravity lift and was rocketed up to the higher level.

Tucker shrugged and set off back towards the canyon but stopped when he saw Washington approaching Caboose and Freckles.

"Hey Caboose!" Wash called out as he arrived. "I've secured the perimeter. No bad guys to be found."

"Excellent work, Commander Washington," Caboose replied in a low commanding voice. "I admire your determination. Why, maybe some day, you could be the leader of Blue Team!"

"Yes," Wash muttered sarcastically. "Maybe some day."

"Now, I have a very important question for you, Washington."

"Okay."

"Um…" Caboose glanced over at his pet Mantis. "D'ya think Freckles would look silly in a hat? Possibly a sombrero?"

Wash frowned. "You want to dress your pet up in people clothes?"

"To boost the morale of our troops!"

With a nervous look, Wash glanced over his shoulder and an idea came to mind. "You know I just remembered I haven't checked for any bad guys on the ship."

"What?" Caboose cried out. "Washington, what are you even doing here? Uh, there could be bad guys plotting against us right now!"

"You're right!" Wash replied, saluting sharply. "Sorry boss, I'll take care of that right away." And he turned round and ran off towards the shipwreck.

Caboose sighed and shook his head. "Ya know, some people are just not cut out for military life, Freckles. Now let's go make you that tiny hat."

As Caboose and Freckles set off towards the base, Tucker gave a soft sigh. "Thanks, Wash. Really looking out for your team."

Just then his helmet gave a loud ring then a voice called out to him. "Hey, you've reached the voicemail of Andy the Bomb."

"Siri, hang up!" Tucker snapped.

At that moment, on an outcropping overlooking the canyon, a lone figure observed the scene below, the fading light just catching off the orange trim of his steel grey armor. He looked down at the Blue Team below him and gasped in amazement. "Holy shit, it's actually them."

Then he heard a clatter beside him and he turned round to see Locus standing on another distant ledge. Suddenly Locus vanished into thin air and the orange soldier's face grew worried. "Oh no…"

An hour later, night had fallen over the canyon, the stars twinkling in the dirty orange sky. Keeping out of sight from Freckles, Sarge, Grif and Doc had crept over to the shipwreck and were now wandering down the halls towards the storage area.

As they walked, Doc glanced around the ship and and gave an admiring whistle. "Ya know, for a shipwreck, this place actually looks pretty nice."

"You should see the other half," Grif replied.

"Is it bad?"

"We don't know. It landed somewhere else."

"Yeah, that's pretty bad." Doc paused for a moment as a thought struck his mind. "Hey, did you guys ever watch Lost?"

"SHUT UP!" Grif and Sarge yelled back.

Soon they entered a huge chamber with several compartments and side passages, with long walkways stretching overhead.

"Alright, men," Sarge said. "Fan out and see what you can find. Remember, we're hunting the most dangerous prey of them all."

"Man?" Doc asked.

"What? No. A giant robot."

"Oh yeah."

Sarge snorted at Doc's comment. "Man. Everything kills man. Man's way down on the list, right between koala and retarded koala."

"Yeah, man sucks," Grif agreed.

With that, Sarge set off towards one of the walkways while Grif and Doc entered a nearby side passage.

Grif entered one room and came across some small guns with a strange capsule stuck over each muzzle. "Hmmm." He knelt down and grabbed a gun then he turned it towards the passage and pulled the trigger. As the capsule shot out, Grif braced himself for a huge explosion but none came.

"What the fuck?" Grif lookedup and saw the capsule stuck to a wall, flashing red. "Huh." He turned round and spotted Doc examining a sign on the wall. With a cheeky grin, he pulled the capsule off the wall and reloaded it into the gun.

"Hmmm." Doc glanced at the names on the sign, each one pointing to an area of weapons. Then suddenly, something hard smacked into the side of his head, throwing him to the floor. "Hey!"

"Boosh!" Grif cheered, running up to the medic. "Headshot!"

"Grif!" Doc groaned, staggering to his feet. "What the heck, man?"

"Oh, don't be a bitch," Grif retorted.

Doc went over to a window and examined the capsule stuck to the side of his helmet. "What is this?"

"Beats me," Grif admitted. "Wanna try? There's a whole bunch in the corner."

"I'm not sure You know how I feel about firearms."

"Come on. They don't do anything. They just stick."

"Well, let me think about it…" Doc rubbed his chin in thought. "Okay!"

"Hey!" Sarge called out from an overhead walkway. "This ain't a tea party, numbskulls! Get ridda those toys and get back to work."

"Fine," Grif sighed, tossing the gun away.

"Aw, man," Doc groaned.

"And take that stupid thing off your head," Sarge added, walking off.

Doc sighed as he pulled off the capsule and tossed it over his shoulder. "I never get to do anything cool."

They set off down the passage to another room and moments after they left, the capsule exploded.

"You'd better not be breaking things down there!" Sarge yelled.

In the next room, Doc found a computer console and quickly accessed the files on the screen. "Hmm. According to the ship's records, it was carrying a lot of standard issue weaponry. But, it has a buncha stuff here listed as 'experimental'."

"Oooh!" Grif breathed, glancing over Doc's shoulder. "That's military slang for really fucking dangerous. Where's that stuff?"

"Well, it looks like most of it was on the other half of the ship."

"Boo!" Grif groaned.

"But there is one prototype that was kept here."

"Yes!" Grif cheered.

Doc typed a code on the keypad and a small panel slid open on a nearby wall, revealing several orange-edged cubes with spikes sticking out of the corners.

"What the fuck are these?" Grif asked, picking up a cube.

"Looks likes some kind of grenade," Doc replied. "Or it could be a Rubik's cube, I dunno."

"Huh." Grif glanced around the room until he spotted some crates labeled DANGEROUS: HIGHLY FLAMMABLE then he flung the cube towards them.

"Aaaahh!" Doc yelped. "What are you doing?"

"Tryin' it out," Grif replied.

But as the cube hit the crates, instead of exploding, there was a flash of light so bright that Doc and Grif had to cover their visors and when the light faded, the crates were gone.

"Whoa!" Grif gasped, his eyes like saucers.

"YOU COULD'VE KILLED US!" Doc yelled.

"Did you see that?" Grif cried, pointing at the spot where the crates used to be.

"You can't just go around messing with experimental-" Grif ignored Doc as he grabbed another cube and threw it towards the other side. "Stop doing that!"

As the cube hit the floor, there was another blinding flash and the crates reappeared.

"Dude!" Grif breathed.

"What is wrong with you?" Doc snapped.

Grif grabbed another cube and stared at it in amazement. "These things are like... teleporter cubes!"

"Be careful!" Doc warned, snatching the cube away and placing it back with the others. "We don't know how they work."

"Whaddya mean? Throw it at a thing, thing disappears. Throw another one, thing reappears. I could keep an entire buffet in the palm of my hand!"

Doc's jaw dropped. "Really? That's what you're excited about?"

"Men!" Sarge's voice rang out from down the hall. "Upstairs, now!"

"Coming!" Doc called, running down the passage.

Grif looked back at the cubes. "Oh, I am taking these." He picked up a cube and an idea came to mind…

Minutes later, he caught up with Doc on the upper platform, where they found Sarge waiting for them.

"Sarge!" Doc called as they approached. "You'll never guess what we found!"

For a moment, Sarge didn't say anything then he turned to look at Doc. "Son, you could've found a laser-guided napalm shark, but I still wouldn't care."

"What?" Doc asked, puzzled.

"Ya know that feelin' you get when you see a pretty girl on the first day of school? You're not really sure what to do, but your instincts take over and you smile at her, and she smiles back?" Sarge let out an emotional sniff. "And suddenly the world's a brand new place, and your stomach's all full of twists and twirls?"

Doc swapped a confused look with Grif. "Um Yeah?"

"Well, boys…" Sarge turned and pointed down the platform. "I got that feelin' now."

Grif and Doc followed Sarge's gaze and when they saw what he was pointing at, they gasped in amazement… for there, in a middle of a raised podium, a colossal robot three times bigger than Freckles towered over them!

"Holy shit…" Grif gulped.

"Except imagine that that pretty girl at school is armor-plated with a titanium Polly-alloy, and outfitted with fifty millimeter cannons and ammo for days!" Sarge concluded.

"She sounds pretty high maintenance," Doc said, puffing out his cheeks.

"She sounds like I need a safe-word to date her," Grif added.

"Oh yeah!" Sarge beamed.

"So how do we get it out of the ship?" Doc asked.

Grif pulled out one of the cubes he'd found. "Uh, teleportation cubes, anyone?"

"No!" Sarge cried. "A lady this fine has to be treated right, whiled up and whatnot. We'll take her apart and more her ourselves limb by limb, packed away in carrying cases if necessary."

Doc grimaced. "Uh I think your dating metaphor just took a turn into serial killer territory there, Sarge."

"Seriously?" Grif yelled. "I just found these awesome future cubes! It's destiny!"

Suddenly a loud metallic clatter rang out from the passages. "Huh? What was that?" Sarge hissed, raising his shotgun.

Quickly, they ducked behind some crates as they heard footsteps coming towards them. Doc carefully peeked out and spotted a cobalt figure running down the walkway. "Agent Washington?"

"What the hell is he doing here?" Grif hissed.

"Doesn't matter," Sarge replied, getting to his feet. "Let's just dismember this beautiful lady and take her back to our lair. I mean base."

"Could you please stop referring to the robot as a woman?" Grif demanded. "It's really weird."

"Not as weird as the throbbing erection she's giving me."

"Jesus Christ," Grif groaned, slapping his hand over his visor.

Meanwhile, unaware of the Reds' activities, Washington entered a small storage area where an assortment of machine parts were strewn on a work bench. Taking off his helmet, he approached the bench, picked up some tools and set to work. After a while, he looked at his work and rubbed his chin in thought. "Hmmm. Needs a conductor."

Turning from his work, he approached a crate and tried to pull it open, but it was locked tight. "Stupid thing," he growled. "Just open!"

After a while, he pulled out his pistol and shot off the lock then he pulled the lid off and took out a piece of equipment. "There we go."

He then returned to the bench, pulled a welder's mask over his face, picked up a soldering iron and resumed his work, pausing only to look up at the ceiling and give a big sigh. "Never thought it'd come to this. Sorry, Caboose."

* * *

**Ooh, sounds like the Reds aren't the only ones with designs against Freckles.**

**Incidentally, I apologize for the long delay, but I had a gym accident which meant my left arm was out of action for the past three weeks. But now I'm on the road to recovery and desperately in need to catch up, so back in the saddle I go!**


	14. plus1 Follower

**This episode will bring a bit of technology to this backwater canyon.**

* * *

Chapter 13: +1 Follower

The morning sun rose bright and strong over the canyon, tendrils of mist creeping out of the jungle and down the sides of the cliff. At the Blue Base, Tucker watched as Simmons finished his work on a computer screen built into a console.

Then Washington came up from behind them, helmet under his arm. "What is all this?"

"It's the future," Simmons replied.

"Where the hell have you been last night?" Tucker demanded.

"I've been doing everything I can to keep us alive," Wash replied.

"Oh really? Then where were you when Freckles tried to kill me for calling his tiny hat stupid?"

"I thought you didn't need me protecting you, Tucker."

"Hey guys," Simmons yelled over his shoulder. "I'm trying to revolutionize the world of inter-canyon communication. So if you could keep it down, that'd be great!"

Wash frowned. "What is he talking about?"

At this, Simmons stood up and turned to face the Blues. "I'm talking about… the Internet!" With that, he pressed some buttons on the console then stepped aside. As Wash and Tucker watched, the screen lit up to reveal Simmons' name spelled out in contrasting colors of blue, red, yellow and green, over a box for typing.

"Welcome," a soft computer voice rang out.

Tucker's jaw dropped and his eyes were like saucers. "Oh… My… God! Everybody leave! Everybody leave right now! There's something I've gotta do."

As Tucker ran off down the passage, Wash raised an eyebrow. "The internet?"

"Seriously," Tucker yelled, running back into the room with a box of tissues and some Vaseline. "You're gonna see some shit if you don't leave."

"Well, it's not really the internet," Simmons admitted. "The only two points of communication are Red and Blue Base."

"What?" Tucker cried, dropping the tissues and Vaseline. "Why would you lie to us like that?"

"You put one of these at Red Base too?" Wash cried.

"Yeah." Simmons nodded. "I had to sneak past Freckles, but it was totally worth it."

"Why?"

"Behold!" Simmons typed on the console once more, and the screen changed to show a new homepage, this one titled Basebook next to a login box.

Wash raised his eyebrows. "Basebook?"

"Yeah," Simmons replied. "It's a site that lets you post pictures, videos and even text posts so that your friends always know what you're up to. It's revolutionary!"

"Revolutionary?" Wash cried. "The first social media sites were created hundreds of years ago."

"And there are no friends in this canyon," Tucker added. "Only forced acquaintances."

"Well, yeah," Simmons agreed. "But those old sites just turned into amalgamations of attention whores. Nothing but teenagers who wanted to prove they were cool and old people who wanted to prove they were still relevant."

"So what's the point of Basebook?" Tucker asked.

Simmons shrugged. "Oh, you know, just wanna keep in touch with my friends on the Red Team while I'm your prisoner. Can't let them forget about ol' Simmons!" He burst into nervous laughter which rapidly descended into pitiful sobs.

Wash swapped a worried look with Tucker. "Well… I'm glad you spent your time in captivity on something meaningful."

"So you made it," Tucker added. "What now?"

"Well, let's see what Sarge is up to." Simmons logged into Basebook and scanned his posts. "Uh huh… Hmm, hasn't set up his profile yet… That's cool. Umm, I'll just wait for an update. He has to have an update. Yeah, I'm sure it'll come eventually. Yeah, updates…" He gave another crazed laugh.

Wash sighed and patted the maroon Spartan's shoulder. "You know, maybe you should go outside for a bit, Simmons. I'm sure Caboose wouldn't mind if you got some fresh air."

"No, no, it's cool," Simmons insisted. "I'll just save Sarge some time and… make a profile for him! Yeah, that'll be fun. And I'll do a post about it, just so he knows…"

Tucker shook his head in dismay. "Hope you like the new Blue Team, Wash. You really worked your magic." He then turned and left to go work on the radio tower.

Wash looked up to see him leave then he spotted Caboose carefully adjusting a small sombrero on top of Freckles.

"Um, okay… There!" Caboose jumped down and examined his robot for a moment. "Okay, don't move! I gotta get my camera! Oh my God, this is gonna be so cute!"

"HOLDING POSITION," Freckles declared as Caboose ran off into the base.

"Hey, Wash," Simmons called out, breaking the ex-Freelancer's thoughts. "Could you take a picture and then tag me in it? 'Cause if I do it myself, I'll just look like one of those losers."

Wash sighed and bowed his head, realizing how badly things were going wrong for his team.

Meanwhile at the Red Base, Donut had been busy keeping the base spic and span while the others were out, waxing the floors, dusting the passageways and even polishing Lopez 2.0's armor. He had just finished cleaning the dishes and was about to put them into the cupboard when there was a loud crash from outside. Quickly Donut snatched up his magnum and ran outside to confront the intruders. "Alright, spread 'em!"

"Hey, Donut," Doc called out.

"Oh it's you guys!" Donut cried, stowing his gun away. "What took you so long?"

"It's not exactly easy moving several tons of robot in a timely manner." Doc nodded behind him and Donut saw Sarge and Grif gathered around a pile of machinery. "I think Grif even dropped some pieces along the way."

"There's a difference between dropping and abandoning," Grif cut in.

"What? Droppin' pieces?" Sarge bellowed. "Grif, if I find a single screw missing from this death machine, I'll beat the living pulp out of you and drink the remainin' orange juice! 'Cause I like my dead men pulp-free, and with extra calcium if available."

Grif gulped nervously. "What if I lost multiple screws? Or several feet of armor plating?"

"Giant robot battle, here we come!" Donut cheered. "This is gonna be AWESOME! Fight fire with fire! Good idea, Sarge."

"I still say we should trap Freckles in a future cube!" Grif yelled, pulling out a glowing orange cube.

"You actually brought one of those with you?" Doc cried.

"Technically, yes." Grif tossed the cube onto the floor and in a flash of light so bright that Donut had to shield his eyes, a large stack of cubes appeared. "But actually no."

Donut frowned. "It's a cube that makes more cubes."

"No, they teleport stuff. Watch this." Grif grabbed a cube and then looked around until he spotted a construction cone. "Fuck you, cone! What'd you ever do for me?" He flung the cube out and with a flash of light, the cone disappeared.

"Whoa!" Donut gasped.

"Nah, I'm just kidding, cone," Grif chuckled. "You can come back." He flung another cube to his right and in another flash, the cone reappeared.

"They're like Poké Balls!" Donut squealed.

"No, _these_ are cool," Grif retorted. "Do not ruin them for me."

"Or maybe they send stuff to the Phantom Zone, like in that bad Superman movie."

"You mean _Superman 2_ or _Man of Steel_?" Doc asked.

"No, the eleventh remake." Donut then put on his deep announcer's voice. "Superman Origins 3: Revelations!"

"Oh yeah," Doc recalled. "That was awesome."

"Sarge, look," Grif insisted. "Let's just send Donut to Blue Base with one of the cubes. He throws it at Freckles, Freckles gets zapped then we just throw a cube in a volcano or something."

"Why do I have to do it?" Donut asked.

"In case it doesn't work," Grif replied. "I wanna be alive."

"Makes sense."

"But we still don't even know how the teleporter cubes work," Doc protested. "What if they're extremely radioactive? Or what if they only work on inanimate objects?"

"Robots are objects," Grif argued.

"Hey, you're gonna hurt some feelings over here," Sarge snapped. "Don't ever talk like that in front of my robot."

"(I heard the word robot,)" Lopez 2.0 called out, running up to them. "(Did you call me?)"

"Nobody's talking to you, robot," Sarge sighed.

"Well, you should at least run some tests first," Doc said.

"But tests are hard!" Grif groaned like a child.

"Well, if it keeps you morons away from me so I can work," Sarge decided. "I say go for it."

"Seriously?"

"You can either test the cubes or you can test this thing's primary defense systems."

"What do I have to do for that?"

"Just stand still and wait for the sweet embrace of death."

Grif gulped then he grabbed the cubes and ran off round the base. "Okay, yeah, I'm leaving now."

"Ooh, I gonna update my Basebook page about this," Donut cried.

"What's that?" Doc asked.

"Oh, Doc. You're. Gonna. Love it!" Donut hissed excitedly. "You should see this picture Caboose just uploaded. It's _hilarious!_"

Lopez 2.0 watched them leave then he rejoined the original Lopez on top of some crates and sat down next to him.

"(Another robot,)" Lopez 1 sighed. "(How original.)"

"Psst!"

Lopez 2.0 jumped at that hiss. "(Did you hear something?)"

"Yeah," the low voice called out from nearby. "Hey, over here. Brown guy."

Lopez 2.0 turned round and spotted a dark figure hiding in a crevice. "(Holy shit, who is that?)"

"(Who is what?)" Lopez 1 asked. "I can't see."

The figure slowly stepped forward, the sunlight picking out the orange stripes on his grey armor. "Okay, don't come over here or anything, just listen. You and your friends are in a lot of trouble."

"(What?)" Lopez 2.0 gasped.

"(Seriously, what the fuck is going on?)" Lopez 1 yelled, trying to look around.

"I'm gonna get you guys out of here, okay?" the figure reassured. "But you need to sit tight a little while longer. I'm not the only one with their eyes on you."

"(What does that mean?)" Lopez 2.0 asked puzzled.

The figure glanced up towards the cliff for a moment. "I gotta go. Look, I know you people can fend for yourselves. Just… be careful."

"(Be careful?)" Lopez 2.0 asked, turning toward the cliff. "(Why? Who is watching us?)"

"(TURN. ME. AROUND!)" Lopez 1 snapped.

Lopez 2.0 turned back to the crevice, but the figure was nowhere to be seen. "(He's gone!)"

"(Gone?)" Lopez 1 asked.

"(Vanished!)"

"(Was he Batman?)"

"(Lopez, we have to tell somebody!)"

Lopez 1 rolled his eyes. "(You can't be serious.)"

Lopez 2.0 turned towards the Red Base. "(Sarge! Sarge!)"

"Hmm?" Sarge looked up from his work and turned round. "You talkin' to me?"

"(A man was just here!)" Lopez 2.0 called out. "(He said we were in danger. He said we have to-)"

"Dos.0, quit your yammerin' so I can build your replacement," Sarge cut in crossly. "Uh I mean your… building your… Uh, yeah it's pretty much your replacement."

Lopez 2.0 tried to yell out again but his predecessor cut in. "(Trust me, kid. Don't even bother. You could draw that man a detailed info-graphic describing the situation and he'd still find some way to screw things up.)"

"(But we could be rescued,)" Lopez 2.0 insisted.

"(I can either be a head in this canyon, or I could be a head in another canyon. At this point, I really don't care.)"

"(But what about our creators?)"

"(They're the worst.)"

Lopez 2.0 looked baffled. "(What do you mean?)"

Lopez 1 gave a mechanical sigh. "(You're going to want to sit down for this story. It's about 20 hours long and I only enjoy telling it in five minute intervals.)"

* * *

**Before you ask: No, I do not have the Spanish version of the Red vs. Blue series so far.**


	15. Reconciliation

**Our two teams have a few hurdles to get past in this episode.**

* * *

Chapter 14: Reconciliation

As Donut led Doc through the base, he quickly explained the new installation to the internet that Simmons had made as well as the creation of Basebook. By the time he'd finished, they had reached the main computer room and Donut indicated the screen. "Pretty neat, huh?"

Doc examined Donut's profile which now showed a picture of them both hanging out at Valhalla. "So who uses this?"

"Mainly just Simmons and Caboose. Oh wait! Looks like Sarge has a profile now." Donut grabbed the mouse and clicked on the page. "Like!"

"And you just… talk about yourself?"

"You can post pictures and stuff too." Donut pointed with the mouse icon at a progress bar over a slowly loading photo. "I've been downloading this picture of Freckles for a while." As he spoke, the bar clicked up to 16% completion.

"How long has that been going for?" Doc asked.

"Uh, just a few hours."

Doc raised his eyebrows. "You spent hours of our limited energy just downloading a single picture?"

"It is a very high quality picture," Donut insisted as the bar clicked up 17%.

Doc thought about it then he shrugged. "Well, you can't argue with that. So is that all you did while you were out last night?"

"Nope! I've been cleaning the base from top to bottom; it was the least I can do to make it more presentable. I did the dishes, swept sand off the floor…"

"Wow. Did you clean Grif's room?"

Donut frowned. "Grif has a room?"

"Well, he and Simmons share that side of the base," Doc replied. "But Grif's stuff overflowed onto the roof."

"Ooh, let me take a peek!" Donut cried, running out of the room.

Doc then sat down on the screen and examined the post. "Oh my God! If this post gets over ten thousand likes, Basebook will pay for a rescue team to save us!"

At the same time, Donut reached Grif's room and opened the door… only to discover a jam-packed pile of trash inside! "AAAGGGH!" he screamed, seconds before the trash cascaded out of the room right on top of him.

"I know!" Doc shouted from the computer room. "It's too good to be true!"

Outside, Grif was still testing out the teleportation cubes. So far, he'd teleported three crates to the top of the base, moved the wrecked Warthog into the garage and managed to get two boxes of Oreos out of the kitchen without Sarge noticing. He was just taking aim at a large boulder, when… "Dexter Grif!"

Grif almost dropped the cube in fright. "Huh?" He turned round to see Donut come storming out of the base, his pink armor covered in coffee stains and empty Oreo packets. "Whoa, what happened to you?"

"I can't stand living in this base the way you've been treating it!" Donut snapped, dusting the packets off his armor. "The layout is all wrong, the color palette is atrocious, and the garden doesn't even have flowers in it, just vegetables. Also, I think someone's trying to plant candy corn at some point!"

"Hmm," Grif murmured, his eyes suddenly shifty. "I, uh, wonder who did that?"

"How's the testing going?" Doc called, coming out of the base behind Donut.

"Well, Doc," Grif replied, holding up the cube. "After countless experiments, I've determined the teleportation cubes are still fucking awesome! All other data has been inconclusive."

Doc gave a nervous grimace. "Grif, I really think we shouldn't be messing with these. They could be dangerous! We can't be throwing them all willy-nilly!"

Before Grif could say anything to the contrary, Donut snatched the cube out of his hand. "Give me that!"

"Hey!" Grif yelled.

Donut ignored him as he threw the cube onto the roof of the base where the mountain of Grif's rubbish poked out. As the cube hit the rubbish, there was a flash of light and the rubbish disappeared.

"My stuff!" Grif gasped.

Donut then grabbed another cube, turned away from the base and hurled it with all his strength right across the canyon.

Doc watched the cube fly off until it was out of sight. "Nice arm."

"There," Donut declared, dusting off his hands. "If you can't be responsible enough to clean your room, you'll just have to say goodbye to everything that was in it."

"Aww man," Grif groaned.

At that moment, at the Blue Base, Simmons was making his umpteenth check on his Basebook page. "Hey, someone liked my post! Things are finally looking up for Private Simmons!"

Just then, a small cube landed right behind him with a clutter and Simmons turned round with a frown. "What the…?"

A split-second later, there was a flash of light and the next thing he knew, Simmons found himself buried in a huge mountain of filth and clutter! "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Out in the canyon, Washington heard the shout and turned round in confusion. Then he shrugged and made his way over to the tower, where he found Tucker bashing his rifle into the circuit breaker. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing, the, radio," Tucker grunted between pounds.

"By beating it with the butt of your rifle?"

"It worked, for you."

"But that was-"

"Ya know what? How 'bout you come over here and do it yourself?"

"Try connecting the antenna port to the amp."

Tucker paused mid-swing and turned round. "What?"

"If you transfer too much voltage, that will just fry the radio," Wash explained. "But if you transfer the power through an amp-"

"All I hear are words that would get me beat up in high school."

"Tucker, I'm being serious."

"Oh my God," Tucker scoffed. "Stop the fuckin' presses. Agent Washington is being serious."

Wash sighed. "If you'd just listen to me, you could do this."

"I don't want to do this!" Tucker snapped, tossing his rifle aside. "Did you ever think of that? All I wanna do is stand around and talk to my friend. But he's gone now and all I have is you!"

"What?" Wash breathed.

"It's fucking bullshit!" Tucker growled, folding his arms and turning away in a huff.

Wash sighed then he stepped up to Tucker and turned to look at the sky. After a while, he spoke. "Did you know I was one of the worst Freelancers in my squad? There was Agent York, our security specialist, Agent North the sharpshooter, Carolina was an expert in martial arts and Tex was… Well, you know, Tex."

"Cool story, bro," Tucker snorted.

"I was known for getting a grappling hook stuck to my balls."

"Okay," Tucker sighed, turning to look at him. "Where are you going with this?"

Wash turned to face him. "Church was your leader for a long time. You knew each other inside out."

"Dude, don't phrase it like that!"

"Oh right, sorry," Wash realized. "Anyway, I'm still new to all this. I've never really had to lead anybody before. But when Church and Carolina disappeared, I had no choice. I had to try."

"Well, that's where you went wrong," Tucker cut in. "You tried too hard, man! I mean, Church wasn't the _best_ leader ever, but he never made us run laps or do push-ups or anything. He just took the blame when shit went wrong. That's it."

Wash smiled grimly then turned towards the ruined ship. "Well, we're shipwrecked, low on food and we have to do whatever Caboose says or we'll be killed by a robot."

"Looks like you really fucked up," Tucker chuckled.

"Yeah," Wash admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kinda looks that way."

Tucker nodded slowly. "Well… You weren't really our leader when the ship crashed. So I guess you don't have to take the blame for that."

Wash suddenly gave a nervous grimace.

_Flashback_

_On board the ship, Wash left Simmons to gloss around the storage level while he wandered round the generator room. As he glanced up at the intricate machines, his foot suddenly caught on something and he stumbled to the floor. "Whoops!"_

_As he hit the floor, the lights overhead suddenly dimmed. Wash looked round and saw a cable lying at his feet then he spotted two engineers running over to him, looking quite worried. "Sorry, my bad!" he called, getting to his feet. "I knocked a cable out of the wall. "I hope that wasn't important."_

_At that moment, alarms began to blare around the ship and red lights flashed on._

_End flashback_

Wash gave a nervous chuckle. "Uh, I'll take some of the blame."

"Whatever," Tucker replied.

Wash then turned towards the tower. "Now are you gonna fix this thing or not?"

Tucker stepped back in front of the radio. "Well, earlier the radio was working but the signal wasn't strong enough. Now it's just not working."

"Sounds like you really fucked up,"

"Don't be a dick."

Wash shrugged then he placed a hand on his teal teammate's shoulder. "You're a capable soldier, Tucker, at least compared to your usual acquaintances. You just have to… try."

Tucker sighed and glanced over the radio. "Oh."

"What?"

Tucker flicked a switch on the radio and a hiss of static came out. "It was just turned off."

"Attention, Blue Team! Team, team, team…"

Wash turned round to see Caboose coming towards the tower, followed as always by Freckles. "Um, yes, Captain?"

"Yeah, um," Caboose replied. "I know we all said we wanted to fix the radio, and that it's very important to fix the uh, the radio and the tower and all that, it's very important…"

"We'll probably die if it's not repaired."

"Right, um… But! I need you guys to go back to Blue Base and um… clean up."

Tucker frowned. "Clean up what?"

"Garbage and robot parts and gross stuff, you know," Caboose replied. "Yeah, Simmons actually won't stop rocking back and forth in the corner and it's kinda… freakin' me out."

Wash raised an eyebrow. "You do mean Blue Base, right?"

"DO NOT QUESTION YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER," Freckles boomed, raising its missile turret.

"Okay, okay," Wash called out quickly. "We'll be there in a minute."

With a nod, Caboose then climbed up his pet's leg and jumped into the cockpit. "Assistant Captain Best Friend Freckles, initiate piggyback sequence!"

"ACKNOWLEDGED," Freckles replied, stomping off back to Blue Base.

Tucker sighed and bowed his head. "You know we're all gonna die because of him, right?"

Wash nodded. "Tucker, I need you to head back to base and do what you can. I have to go back to the ship."

"You're leaving me again?!" Tucker cried. "What the fuck do you need to go on the ship for?"

"I found something," Wash replied, jumping off the tower. "I just need you to buy me some time."

"Then what are you gonna do?"

Wash sighed as he set off back to the ship. "Hopefully, I'm gonna put a stop to all this…"

* * *

Meanwhile, several miles away, the soldier known only as Locus marched across the deserted plains towards his goal. His journey had taken him all night and most of the day, but he had to be quick. Already he'd spotted members of the accursed New Republic at Crash Site Bravo, some of which he'd dealt with. But one of them had managed to escape, and if he didn't make it back in time, his targets would be gone…

At last, he spotted his destination, a huge series of ruins built by the edge of a cliff. As he made his way through them, several soldiers in white armor spotted him and gave him sharp salutes.

Soon he approached a small cluster of soldiers gathered under a tree. "You four, come with me," he ordered. "We're going hunting."

* * *

**Uh oh, this can't be good.**


End file.
